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A ROVING
COMMISSION

BY WINSTON S. CHURCHILL

THE WORLD CRISIS. ign-xj)X4
THE WORLD CRISIS, 19x5
THE WORLD CRISIS, 1916-319x8

THE AFTERMATH

(The World Crisis, 1918-1938)

A ROVING COMMISSION

MISS JENNIE JEROME
(Lady Randolph Churchill)

Roving
Commission

My Early Life

by
THE RT. HON. WINSTON S. CHURCHILL

C.H., M.P.

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1930

Printed in the United States of America
A

TO
A NEW GENERATION

AUTHOR'S PREFACE

VARIOUS accounts having appeared from time to time of
my early life and adventures, and I myself having pub
lished thirty years ago stories of the several campaigns in
which I took part, and having written later about particular
episodes, I have thought it right to bring the whole together
in a single complete story j and to tell the tale, such as it is,
anew. I have therefore not only searched my memory, but
have most carefully verified my facts from the records which
I possess. I have tried, in each part of the quarter-century in
which this tale lies, to show the point of view appropriate to
-my years, whether as a child, a schoolboy, a cadet, a sub
altern, a war-correspondent or a youthful politician. If these
opinions conflict with those now generally accepted, they must
be taken merely as representing a phase in my early life, and
not in any respect, except where the context warrants, as
modern pronouncements.

When I survey this work as a whole I find I have drawn
a picture of a vanished age. The character of society, the
foundations of politics, the methods of war, the outlook of
youth, the scale of values, are all changed, and changed to
an extent I should not have believed possible in so short a
space without any violent domestic revolution. I cannot pre
tend to feel that they are in all respects changed for the
better. I was a child of the Victorian era, when the structure
of our country seemed firmly set, when its position in trade
and on the seas was unrivalled, and when the realisation of
the greatness of our Empire and of our duty to preserve it
was ever growing stronger. In those days the dominant
forces in Great Britain were very sure of themselves and of
their doctrines. They thought they could teach the world
the art of government, and the science of economics. They
were sure they were supreme at sea and consequently safe at

vii

AUTHOR'S PREFACE

home. They rested therefore sedately under the convictions
of power and security. Very different is the aspect of these
anxious and dubious times. Full allowance for such changes
should be made by friendly readers.

I have thought that it might be of interest to the new
generation to read a story of youthful endeavour, and I have
set down candidly and with as much simplicity as possible
my personal fortunes.

WINSTON SPENCER CHURCHILL.

CHARTWELL MANOR,
1930.

Vlll

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I, CHILDHOOD i

II. HARROW 15

III. EXAMINATIONS . 25

IV. SANDHURST 43

V. THE FOURTH HUSSARS 61

VI. CUBA 74

VII. HOUNSLOW 89

VIII. INDIA 101

IX. EDUCATION AT BANGALORE 109

X. THE MALAKAND FIELD FORCE 122

XL THE MAMUND VALLEY 134

XII. THE TIRAH EXPEDITION 148

XIII. . A DIFFICULTY WITH KITCHENER 161

XIV. THE EVE OF OMDURMAN 171

XV. THE SENSATIONS OF A CAVALRY CHARGE , . . 182

XVI. I LEAVE THE ARMY 197

XVII. OLDHAM 217

XVIII. WITH BULLER TO THE CAPE 229

XIX. THE ARMOURED TRAIN 239

XX. IN DURANCE VILE 259

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

XXL I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS — I 268

XXII. I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS— II 286

XXIIL BACK TO THE ARMY » ... 298

XXIV. SPIONKOP 307

XXV. THE RELIEF OF LADYSMITH ...... 318

XXVI. IN THE ORANGE FREE STATE 327

XXVII. JOHANNESBURG AND PRETORIA 343

XXVIII. THE KHAKI ELECTION 353

XXIX. THE HOUSE OF COMMONS 362

INDEX 371

ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS

Miss Jennie Jerome, Lady Randolph Churchill .... Frontispiece
The Author, Aged Five facing page 8

Lord Randolph Churchill, Aged Thirty-Six, Chancellor
of the Exchequer and Leader of the House of
Commons facing page 46

A Gentleman-Cadet facing page 58

In the Fourth Hussars facing page 64

Map of Cuba page 87

Sir Bindon Blood facing page 92

Some Polo Ponies facing page 106

Bangalore facing page 118

Map Illustrating the Operations of the Malakand Force . . page 133

Map of the Mamund Valley page 145

Lady Randolph Churchill (drawn by Sargent) . . . facing page 152

Colonel Sir Ian Hamilton facing page 158

The Charge of the 2 ist Lancers facing page 192

Map — Omdurman: The First of September page 195

The Armoured Train : The Start : The End . . . . facing page 244

The Armoured Train (Diagram) page 251

Pretoria, November 1 8 facing page 260

Plan of the State Model Schools page 269

'Dead or Alive' page 291

ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS

Welcome at Durban faing page 296

The South African Light Horse facing page 304

Map — Around Spion Kop page 317

Map — The Relief of Lady smith page 325

Map — In the Orange Free State page 342

Map — Bloemfontein to Pretoria page 345

General Map Illustrating Mr. Churchill's Journey . . facing page 357,
Member for Oldham facing page 358

Xll

A ROVING
COMMISSION

CHAPTER I

CHILDHOOD

WHEN does one first begin to remember? Wtien do the
waving lights and shadows of dawning consciousness
cast their print upon the mind of a child? My earliest mem
ories are Ireland. I can recall scenes and events in Ireland
quite well, and sometimes dimly even, people. Yet I was
born on November 30, 1874, and I left Ireland early in the
year 1879. My father had gone to Ireland as secretary to
his father, the Duke of Marlborough, appointed Lord-Lieu
tenant by Mr. Disraeli in 1876. We lived in a house called
*The Little Lodge/ about a stone's throw from the Vice
regal. Here I spent nearly three years of childhood. I
have clear and vivid impressions of some events. I remem
ber my grandfather, the Viceroy, unveiling the Lord Gough
statue in 1878. A great black crowd, scarlet soldiers on horse
back, strings pulling away a brown shiny sheet, the old
Duke, the formidable grandpapa, talking loudly to the
crowd. I recall even a phrase he used: 'and with a wither
ing volley he shattered the enemy's line.' I quite under
stood that he was speaking about war and fighting and that
a Volley' meant what the black-coated soldiers (Riflemen)
used to do with loud bangs so often in the Phoenix Park
where I was taken for my morning walks. This, I think, is
my first coherent memory.

Other events stand out more distinctly. We were to go to
a pantomime. There was great excitement about it. The long-
looked-for afternoon arrived. We started from the Vice
regal and drove to the Castle where other children were no
doubt to be picked up. Inside the Castle was a great square

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space paved with small oblong stones. It rained. It nearly
always rained — just as it does now. People came out of
the doors of the Castle, and there seemed to be much stir.
Then we were told we could not go to the pantomime be
cause the theatre had been burned down. All that was found
of the manager was the keys that had been in his pocket.
We were promised as a consolation for not going to the
pantomime to go next day and see the ruins of the building.
I wanted very much to see the keys, but this request does
not seem to have been well received.

In one of these years we paid a visit to Emo Park, the
seat of Lord Portarlington, who was explained to me as a
sort of uncle. Of this place I can give very clear descrip
tions, though I have never been there since I was four or
four and a half. The central point in my memory is a tall
white stone tower which we reached after a considerable
drive. I was told it had been blown up by Oliver Cromwell.
I understood definitely that he had blown up all sorts of
things and was therefore a very great man.

My nurse, Mrs. Everest, was nervous about the Fenians.
I gathered these were wicked people and there was no end
to what they would do if they had their way. On one occa
sion when I was out riding on my donkey, we thought we
saw a long dark procession of Fenians approaching. I am
sure now it must have been the Rifle Brigade out for a route
march. But we were all very much alarmed, particularly the
donkey, who expressed his anxiety by kicking. I was thrown
off and had concussion of the brain. This was my first intro
duction to Irish politics!

In the Phoenix Park there was a great round clump of
trees with a house inside it. In this house there lived a per
sonage styled the Chief Secretary or the Under Secretary,
I am not clear which. But at any rate from this house there
came a man called Mr. Burke. He gave me a drum. I can
not remember what he looked like, but I remember the
drum. Two years afterwards when we were back in Eng-

* CH ILDHOOD

land, they told me he had been murdered by the Fenians in
this same Phoenix Park we used to walk about in every day.
Everyone round me seemed much upset about it, and I
thought how lucky it was the Fenians had not got me when
I fell off the donkey.

It was at 'The Little Lodge' I was first menaced with
Education. The approach of a sinister figure described as
''the Governess5 was announced. Her arrival was fixed for a
certain day. In order to prepare for this day Mrs. Everest
produced a book called Reading without Tears. It certainly
did not justify its title in my case. I was made aware that
before the Governess arrived I must be able to read with
out tears. We toiled each day. My nurse pointed with a pen
at the different letters. I thought it all very tiresome. Our
preparations were by no means completed when the fateful
hour struck and the Governess was due to arrive. I did what
so many oppressed peoples have done in similar circum
stances: I took to the woods. I hid in the extensive shrub
beries — forests they seemed — which surrounded 'The Lit
tle Lodge.' Hours passed before I was retrieved and handed
over to 'the Governess,' We continued to toil every day, not
only at letters but at words, and also at what was much
worse, figures. Letters after all had only got to be known,
and when they stood together in a certain way one recog
nised their formation and that it meant a certain sound or
word which one uttered when pressed sufficiently. But the
figures were tied into all sorts of tangles and did things to
one another which it was extremely difficult to forecast with
complete accuracy. You had to say what they did each time
they were tied up together, and the Governess apparently
attached enormous importance to the answer being exact. If
it was not right, it was wrong. It was not any use being
'nearly right.' In some cases these figures got into debt with
one another: you had to borrow one or carry one, and, after
wards you had to pay back the one you had borrowed. These
complications cast a steadily gathering shadow over my daily

A ROVING COMMISSION

life. They took one away from all the interesting things one
wanted to do in the nursery or in the garden. They made
increasing inroads upon one's leisure. One could hardly get
time to do any of the things one wanted to do. They became
a general worry and preoccupation. More especially was this
true when we descended into a dismal bog called 'sums.'
There appeared to be no limit to these. When one sum was
done, there was always another. Just as soon as I managed
to tackle a particular class of these afflictions, some other
much more variegated type was thrust upon me.

My mother took no part in these impositions, but she gave
me to understand that she approved of them and she sided
with the Governess almost always. My picture of her in
Ireland is in a riding habit, fitting like a skin and often
beautifully spotted with mud. She and my father hunted
continually on their large horses; and sometimes there were
great scares because one or the other did not come back for
many hours after they were expected.

My mother always seemed to me a fairy princess: a ra
diant being possessed of limitless riches and power. Lord
D'Abernon has described her as she was in these Irish days
in words for which I am grateful.

. . . CI have the clearest recollection of seeing her for
the first time. It was at the Vice-Regal Lodge at Dublin. She
stood on one side to the left of the entrance. The Viceroy
was on a dais at the farther end of the room surrounded by
a brilliant staff, but eyes were not turned on him or on his
consort, but on a dark, lithe figure, standing somewhat apart
and appearing to be of another texture to those around her,
radiant, translucent, intense. A diamond star in her hair, her
favourite ornament — its lustre dimmed by the flashing glory
of her eyes. More of the panther than of the woman in
her look, but with a cultivated intelligence unknown to the
jungle. Her courage not less great than that of her husband
— fit mother for descendants of the great Duke. With all

CHILDHOOD

these attributes of brilliancy, such kindliness and high spirits
that she was universally popular. Her desire to please, her
delight in life, and the genuine wish that all should share
her joyous faith in it, made her the centre of a devoted
circle.'

My mother made the same brilliant impression upon my
childhood's eye. She shone for me like the Evening Star. I
loved her dearly — but at a distance. My nurse was my con
fidante. Mrs. Everest it was who looked after me and tended
all my wants. It was to her I poured out my many troubles,
both now and in my schooldays. Before she came to us, she
had brought up for twelve years a little girl called Ella,
the daughter of a clergyman who lived in Cumberland.
'Little Ella/ though I never saw her, became a feature in
my early life. I knew all about herj what she liked to eatj
how she used to say her prayers 3 in what ways she was
naughty and in what ways good. I had a vivid picture in my
mind of her home in the North country. I was also taught
to be very fond of Kent. It was, Mrs. Everest said, 'the
garden of England.' She had been born at Chatham, and
was immensely proud of Kent. No county could compare
with Kent, any more than any other country could compare
with England. Ireland, for instance, was nothing like so
good. As for France, Mrs. Everest who had at one time
wheeled me in my perambulator up and down what she
called the 'Shams Elizzie' thought very little of it. Kent
was the place. Its capital was Maidstone, and all round
Maidstone there grew strawberries, cherries, raspberries and
plums. Lovely! I always wanted to live in Kent.

I revisited 'The Little Lodge' when lecturing on the
Boer War in Dublin in the winter of 1900. I remembered
well that it was a long low white building with green shut
ters and verandahs, and that there was a lawn around it
about as big as Trafalgar Square and entirely surrounded by
forests. I thought it must have been at least a mile from

A ROVING COMMISSION

the Viceregal. When I saw it again, I was astonished to find
that the lawn was only about sixty yards across, that the
forests were little more than bushes, and that it only took
a minute to ride to it from the Viceregal where I was
staying.

My next foothold of memory is Ventnor. I loved Vent-
nor. Mrs. Everest had a sister who lived at Ventnor. Her
husband had been nearly thirty years a prison warder. Both
then and in later years he used to take me for long walks
over the Downs or through the Landslip. He told me many
stories of mutinies in the prisons and how he had been at
tacked and injured on several occasions by the convicts.
When I first stayed at Ventnor we were fighting a war with
the Zulus. There were pictures in the papers of these Zulus.
They were black and naked, with spears called 'assegais*
which they threw very cleverly. They killed a great many
of our soldiers, but judging from the pictures, not nearly so
many as our soldiers killed of them. I was very angry with
the Zulus, and glad to hear they were being killed j and
so was my friend, the old prison warder. After a while it
seemed that they were all killed, because this particular war
came to an end and there were no more pictures of Zulus
in the papers and nobody worried any more about them.

One day when we were out on the cliffs near Ventnor, we
saw a great splendid ship with all her sails set, passing the
shore only a mile or two away. cThat is a troopship,' they
said, 'bringing the men back from the war.' But it may have
been from India, I cannot remember.1 Then all of a sudden
there were black clouds and wind and the first drops of a
storm, and we just scrambled home without getting wet
through. The next time I went out on those cliffs there was
no splendid ship in full sail, but three black masts were
pointed out to me, sticking up out of the water in a stark
way. She was the Ewrydice? She had capsized in this very

*In fact she was a training ship.
2 Pronounced by us in two syllables.

CHILDHOOD

squall and gone to the bottom with three hundred soldiers
on board. The divers went down to bring up the corpses. I
was told — and it made a scar on my mind — that some of
the divers had fainted with terror at seeing the fish eating
the bodies of the poor soldiers who had been drowned just
as they were coming bafck home after all their hard work
and danger in fighting savages. I seem to have seen some
of these corpses towed very slowly by boats one sunny day.
There were many people on the cliffs to watch, and we all
took off our hats in sorrow.

Just about this time also there happened the *Tay Bridge
Disaster.' A whole bridge tumbled down while a train was
running on it in a great storm, and all the passengers were
drowned. I supposed they could not get out of the car
riage windows in time. It would be very hard to open one
of those windows where you have to pull up a long strap be
fore you can let it down. No wonder they were all drowned.
All my world was very angry that the Government should
have allowed a bridge like this to tumble down. It seemed
to me they had been very careless, and I did not wonder at
all that the people said they would vote against them for
being so lazy and neglectful as to let such a shocking thing
happen.

In 1880 we were all thrown out of office by Mr. Glad
stone. Mr. Gladstone was a very dangerous man who went
about rousing people up, lashing them into fury so that
they voted against the Conservatives and turned my grand
father out of his place as Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. He
liked this place much less than his old office of Lord Presi
dent of the Council, which he had held in Lord Beacons-
field's previous government. When he was Lord-Lieutenant
he had to spend all his money on giving entertainments
to the Irish in Dublin} and my grandmother had also got up
a great subscription called 'The Famine Fund/ However,
it was borne in upon me that the Irish were a very ungrate
ful people: they did not say so much as 'Thank you' for the

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entertainments, nor even for 'The Famine Fund.* The Duke
would much rather have stayed in England where he could
live in his own home at Blenheim and regularly attend the
Cabinet. But he always did whatever Lord Beaconsfield told
him to do. Lord Beaconsfield was the great enemy of Mr.
Gladstone, and everybody called him 'Dizzy.' However,
this time 'Dizzy' had been thoroughly beaten by Mr. Glad
stone, so we were all flung out into Opposition and the coun
try began to be ruined very rapidly. Everyone said it was
'going to the dogs.' And then on top of all this Lord Bea
consfield got very ill. He had a long illness j and as he was
also very old, it killed him. I followed his illness from day
to day with great anxiety, because everyone said what a
loss he would be to his country and how no one else could
stop Mr. Gladstone from working his wicked will upon us
all. I was always sure Lord Beaconsfield was going to die,
and at last the day came when all the people I saw went
about with very sad faces because, as they said, a great and
splendid Statesman, who loved our country and defied the
Russians, had died of a broken heart because of the ingrati
tude with which he had been treated by the Radicals.

I have already described the dreaded apparition in my
world of 'The Governess.' But now a much worse peril be
gan to threaten. I was to go to school. I was now seven
years old, and I was what grown-up people in their offhand
way called 'a troublesome boy.' It appeared that I was to
go away from home for many weeks at a stretch in order
to do lessons under masters. The term had already begun,
but still I should have to stay seven weeks before I could
come home for Christmas. Although much that I had heard
about school had made a distinctly disagreeable impression
on my mind, an impression, I may add, thoroughly borne
out by the actual experience, I was also excited and agitated
by this great change in my life. I thought in spite of the
lessons, it would be fun living with so many other boys, and
that we should make friends together and have great ad-

THE AUTHOR, AGED FIVE

CHILDHOOD

ventures. Also I was told that cschool days were the hap
piest time in one's life.' Several grown-up people added that
in their day, when they were young, schools were very
rough: there was bullying, they didn't get enough to eat,
they had 'to break the ice in their pitchers' each morning
(a thing I have never seen done in my life). But now it was
all changed. School life nowadays was one long treat. All
the boys enjoyed it. Some of my cousins who were a little
older had been quite sorry — I was told — to come home for
the holidays. Cross-examined the cousins did not confirm
this} they only grinned. Anyhow I was perfectly helpless.
Irresistible tides drew me swiftly forward. I was no more
consulted about leaving home than I had been about com
ing into the world.

It was very interesting buying all the things one had to
have for going to school. No less than fourteen pairs of socks
were on the list. Mrs. Everest thought this was very ex
travagant. She said that with care ten pairs would do quite
well. Still it was a good thing to have some to spare, as one
could then make sure of avoiding the very great dangers
inseparable from 'sitting in wet feet.'

The fateful day arrived. My mother took me to the sta
tion in a hansom cab. She gave me three half-crowns which
I dropped on to the floor of the cab, and we had to scramble
about in the straw to find them again. We only just caught
the train. If we had missed it, it would have been the end of
the world. However, we didn't, and the world went on.

The school my parents had selected for my education was
one of the most fashionable and expensive in the country.
It modelled itself upon Eton and aimed at being preparatory
for that Public School above all others. It was supposed to
be the very last thing in schools. Only ten boys in a class j
electric light (then a wonder) -y a swimming pond 5 spacious
football and cricket grounds 5 two or three school treats, or
'expeditions' as they were called, every term 5 the masters
all M.A.'s in gowns and mortar-boards j a chapel of its ownj

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no hampers allowed 5 everything provided by the authori
ties. It was a dark November afternoon when we arrived at
this establishment. We had tea with the Headmaster, with
whom my mother conversed in the most easy manner. I was
preoccupied with the fear of spilling my cup and so making
'a bad start.' I was also miserable at the idea of being left
alone among all these strangers in this great, fierce, formi
dable place. After all I was only seven, and I had been so
happy in my nursery with all my toys. I had such wonderful
toys: a real steam engine, a magic lantern, and a collection
of soldiers already nearly a thousand strong. Now it was to
be all lessons. Seven or eight hours of lessons every day
except half-holidays, and football or cricket in addition.

When the last sound of my mother's departing wheels had
died away, the Headmaster invited me to hand over any
money I had in my possession. I produced my three half-
crowns which were duly entered in a book, and I was told
that from time to time there would be a 'shop' at the school
with all sorts of things which one would like to have, and
that I could choose what I liked up to the limit of the seven
and sixpence. Then we quitted the Headmaster's parlour
and the comfortable private side of the house, and entered
the more bleak apartments reserved for the instruction and
accommodation of the pupils. I was taken into a Form Room
and told to sit at a desk. All the other boys were out of doors,
and I was alone with the Form Master. He produced a thin
greeny-brown-covered book filled with words in different
types of print.

'You have never done any Latin before, have you?' he
said.

<No, sir.'

'This is a Latin grammar.' He opened it at a well-thumbed
page. 'You must learn this,' he said, pointing to a number of
words in a frame of lines. 'I will come back in half an hour
and see what you know.'

Behold me then on a gloomy evening, with an aching
heart, seated in front of the First Declension.

CHILDHOOD

Mensa

Mensam

Mensae

Mensa

a table

O table

a table

of a table

to or for a table

by, with or from a table

What on earth did it mean? Where was the sense of it?
It seemed absolute rigmarole to me. However, there was one
thing I could always do: I could learn by heart. And I there
upon proceeded, as far as my private sorrows would allow,
to memorise the acrostic-looking task which had been set me*
In due course the Master returned.
'Have you learnt it?' he asked.

'I think I can say it, sir,' I replied; and I gabbled it off.
He seemed so satisfied with this that I was emboldened
to ask a question.

'What does it mean, sir?'

'It means what it says. Mensa, a table. Mensa is a noun
of the First Declension. There are five declensions. You have
learnt the singular of the First Declension.'
'But,' I repeated, 'what does it mean?'
'Mensa means a table,' he answered.
'Then why does mensa also mean O table,' I enquired,
'and what does O table mean?'
'Mensa, O table, is the vocative case,' he replied.
'But why O table?' I persisted in genuine curiosity.
'O table, — you would use that in addressing a table, in
invoking a table.' And then seeing he was not carrying me
with him, 'You would use it in speaking to a table.'
'But I never do,' I blurted out in honest amazement.
'If you are impertinent, you will be punished, and pun
ished, let me tell you, very severely,' was his conclusive
rejoinder.

Such was my first introduction to the classics from which,

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I have been told, many of our cleverest men have derived
so much solace and profit.

The Form Master's observations about punishment were
by no means without their warrant at St. James's School.
Flogging with the birch in accordance with the Eton fashion
was a great feature in its curriculum. But I am sure no Eton
boy, and certainly no Harrow boy of my day, ever received
such a cruel flogging as this Headmaster was accustomed
to inflict upon the little boys who were in his care and power.
They exceeded in severity anything that would be tolerated
In any of the Reformatories under the Home Office. My
reading in later life has supplied me with some possible
explanations of his temperament. Two or three times a month
the whole school was marshalled in the Library, and one or
more delinquents were haled off to an adjoining apartment
by the two head boys, and there flogged until they bled
freely, while the rest sat quaking, listening to their screams.
This form of correction was strongly reinforced by frequent
religious services of a somewhat High Church character in
the chapel. Mrs. Everest was very much against the Pope. If
the truth were known, she said, he was behind the Fenians.
She was herself Low Church, and her dislike of ornaments
and ritual, and generally her extremely unfavourable opin
ion of the Supreme Pontiff, had prejudiced me strongly
against that personage and all religious practices supposed to
be associated with him. I therefore did not derive much com
fort from the spiritual side of my education at this juncture.
On the other hand, I experienced the fullest applications of
the secular arm.

How I hated this school, and what a life of anxiety I lived
there for more than two years. I made very little progress
at my lessons, and none at all at games. I counted the days
and the hours to the end of every term, when I should return
home from this hateful servitude aftd range my soldiers in
line of battle on the nursery floor. The greatest pleasure
I had in those days was reading. When I was nine and a half

CHILDHOOD

my father gave me Treasure Island, and I remember the
delight with which I devoured it. My teachers saw me at
once backward and precocious, reading books beyond my
years and yet at the bottom of the Form. They were
offended. They had large resources of compulsion at their
disposal, but I was stubborn. Where my reason, imagina
tion or interest were not engaged, I would not or I could
not learn. In all the twelve years I was at school no one
ever succeeded in making me write a Latin verse or learn
any Greek except the alphabet. I do not at all excuse my
self for this foolish neglect of opportunities procured at so
much expense by my parents and brought so forcibly to my
attention by my Preceptors. Perhaps if I had been introduced
to the ancients through their history and customs, instead of
through their grammar and syntax, I might have had a bet
ter record.

I fell into a low state of health at St. James's School, and
finally after a serious illness my parents took me away. Our
family doctor, the celebrated Robson Roose, then practised
at Brighton; and as I was now supposed to be very delicate,
it was thought desirable that I should be under his constant
care. I was accordingly, in 1883, transferred to a school
at Brighton kept by two ladies. This was a smaller school
than the one I had left. It was also cheaper and less pre
tentious. But there was an element of kindness and of sym
pathy which I had found conspicuously lacking in my first
experiences. Here I remained for three years; and though
I very nearly died from an attack of double pneumonia, I
got gradually much stronger in that bracing air and gentle
surroundings. At this school I was allowed to learn things
which interested me: French, History, lots of Poetry by
heart, and above all Riding and Swimming. The impression
of those years makes a pleasant picture in my mind, in
strong contrast to my earlier schoolday memories.

My partiality for Low Church principles which I had
acquired from Mrs. Everest led me into one embarrassment

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We often attended the service in the Chapel Royal at
Brighton. Here the school was accommodated in pews which
ran North and South. In consequence, when the Apostles'
Creed was recited, everyone turned to the East. I was sure
Mrs. Everest would have considered this practice Popish,
and I conceived it my duty to testify against it. I therefore
stood stolidly to my front. I was conscious of having created
a 'sensation.' I prepared myself for martyrdom. However,
when we got home no comment of any kind was made upon
my behaviour. I was almost disappointed, and looked for
ward to the next occasion for a further demonstration of my
faith. But when it came, the school was shown into different
pews in the Chapel Royal facing East, and no action was
called for from any one of us when the Creed was said. I was
puzzled to find my true course and duty. It seemed excessive
to turn away from the East. Indeed I could not feel that such
a step would be justified. I therefore became willy-nilly a
passive conformist.

It was thoughtful and ingenious of these old ladies to
have treated my scruples so tenderly. The results repaid
their care. Never again have I caused or felt trouble on
such a point. Not being resisted or ill-treated, I yielded
myself complacently to a broad-minded tolerance and
orthodoxy.

CHAPTER II
HARROW

I HAD scarcely passed my twelfth birthday when I entered
the inhospitable regions of examinations, through which
for the next seven years I was destined to journey. These
examinations were a great trial to me. The subjects which
were dearest to the examiners were almost invariably those
I fancied least. I would have liked to have been examined
in history, poetry and writing essays. The examiners, on
the other hand, were partial to Latin and mathematics*
And their will prevailed. Moreover, the questions which
they asked on both these subjects were almost invariably
those to which I was unable to suggest a satisfactory answer.
I should have liked to be asked to say what I knew. They
always tried to ask what I did not know. When I would
have willingly displayed my knowledge, they sought to ex
pose my ignorance. This sort of treatment had only one
result: I did not do well in examinations.

This was especially true of my Entrance Examination to
Harrow. The Headmaster, Dr. Welldon, however, took
a broad-minded view of my Latin prose: he showed discern
ment in judging my general ability. This was the more re
markable, because I was found unable to answer a single
question in the Latin paper. I wrote my name at the top
of the page. I wrote down the number of the question CP.
After much reflection I put a bracket round it thus C(I)J. But
thereafter I could not think of anything connected with it
that was either relevant or true. Incidentally there arrived
from nowhere in particular a blot and several smudges.
I gazed for two whole hours at this sad spectacle: and then
merciful ushers collected my piece of foolscap with all the
others and carried it up to the Headmaster's table. It was

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from these slender indications of scholarship that Dr. Well-
don drew the conclusion that I was worthy to pass into
Harrow. It is very much to his credit. It showed that he was
a man capable of looking beneath the surface of things: a
man not dependent upon paper manifestations. I have always
had the greatest regard for him.

In consequence of his decision, I was in due course placed
in the third, or lowest, division of the Fourth, or bottom,
Form. The names of the new boys were printed in the
School List in alphabetical order j and as my correct name,
Spencer-Churchill, began with an CS,' I gained no more ad
vantage from the alphabet than from the wider sphere of
letters. I was in fact only two from the bottom of the whole
school 5 and these two, I regret to say, disappeared almost
immediately through illness or some other cause.

The Harrow custom of calling the roll is different from
that of Eton. At Eton the boys stand in a cluster and lift
their hats when their names are called. At Harrow they
file past a Master in the school yard and answer one by one.
My position was therefore revealed in its somewhat invidi
ous humility. It was the year 1887. Lord Randolph Church
ill had only just resigned his position as Leader of the House
of Commons and Chancellor of the Exchequer, and he still
towered in the forefront of politics. In consequence large
numbers of visitors of both sexes used to wait on the school
steps, in order to see me march by; and I frequently heard
the irreverent comment, cWhy, he's last of all!'

I continued in this unpretentious situation for nearly a
year. However; by being so long in the lowest form I gained
an immense advantage over the cleverer boys. They all went
on to learn Latin and Greek and splendid things like that,
But I was taught English, We were considered such dunces
that we could learn only English. Mr. Somervell — a most
delightful man, to whom my debt is great — was charged
with the duty of teaching the stupidest boys the most dis
regarded thing — namely, to write mere English* He knew

HARROW

how to do it. He taught it as no one else has ever taught it.
Not only did we learn English parsing thoroughly, but we
also practised continually English analysis. Mr. Somervell
had a system of his own. He took a fairly long sentence and
broke it up into its components by means of black, red, blue
and green inks. Subject, verb, object: Relative Clauses, Con
ditional Clauses, Conjunctive and Disjunctive Clauses! Each
had its colour and its bracket. It was a kind of drill. We did it
almost daily. As I remained in the Third Fourth (/3) three
times as long as anyone else, I had three times as much of it.
I learned it thoroughly. Thus I got into my bones the essen
tial structure of the ordinary British sentence — which is a
noble thing. And when in after years my schoolfellows who
had won prizes and distinction for writing such beautiful
Latin poetry and pithy Greek epigrams had to come down
again to common English, to earn their living or make their
way, I did not feel myself at any disadvantage. Naturally I
am biassed in favour of boys learning English. I would make
them all learn English: and then I would let the clever ones
learn Latin as an honour, and Greek as a treat. But the only
thing I would whip them for would be for not knowing
English. I would whip them hard for that.

I first went to Harrow in the summer term. The school
possessed the biggest swimming-bath I had ever seen. It was
more like the bend of a river than a bath, and it had two
bridges across it. Thither we used to repair for hours at a
time and bask between our dips eating enormous buns on the
hot asphalt margin. Naturally it was a good joke to come
up behind some naked friend, or even enemy, and push him
in. I made quite a habit of this with boys of my own size or
less. One day when I had been no more than a month in the
school, I saw a boy standing in a meditative posture wrapped
in a towel on the very brink. He was no bigger than I was,
so I thought him fair game. Coming stealthily behind I
pushed him in, holding on to his towel out of humanity, so
that it should not get wet. I was startled to see a furious face

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emerge from the foam, and a being evidently of enormous
strength making its way by fierce strokes to the shore. I fled,
but in vain. Swift as the wind my pursuer overtook me,
seized me in a ferocious grip and hurled me into the deepest
part of the pool. I soon scrambled out on the other side, and
found myself surrounded by an agitated crowd of younger
boys. 'You're in for it,' they said. 'Do you know what you
have done? It's Amery, he's in the Sixth Form. He is Head
of his House; he is champion at Gym; he has got his football
colours.' They continued to recount his many titles to fame
and reverence and to dilate upon the awful retribution that
would fall upon me. I was convulsed not only with terror,
but with the guilt of sacrilege. How could I tell his rank
when he was in a bath-towel and so small? I determined to
apologise immediately. I approached the potentate in lively
trepidation. cl am very sorry,' I said. CI mistook you for a
Fourth Form boy. You are so small.' He did not seem at all
placated by this; so I added in a most brilliant recovery, *My
father, who is a great man, is also small.' At this he laughed,
and after some general remarks about my ccheek' and how I
had better be careful in the future, signified that the inci
dent was closed.

I have been fortunate to see a good deal more of him, in
times when three years' difference in age is not so important
as it is at school. We were afterwards to be Cabinet col
leagues for a good many years.

It was thought incongruous that while I apparently stag
nated in the lowest form, I should gain a prize open to the
whole school for reciting to the Headmaster twelve hundred
lines of Macaulay's 'Lays of Ancient Rome' without making
a single mistake. I also succeeded in passing the preliminary
examination for the Army while still almost at the bottom of
the school. This examination seemed to have called forth
a very special effort on my part, for many boys far above me
in the school failed in it. I also had a piece of good luck. We
knew that among other questions we should be asked to draw

HARROW

from memory a map of some country or other. The night
before by way of final preparation I put the names of all the
maps in the atlas into a hat and drew out New Zealand. I ap
plied my good memory to the geography of that Dominion.
Sure enough the first question in the paper was: 'Draw a map
of New Zealand.5 This was what is called at Monte Carlo an
en 'plein, and I ought to have been paid thirty-five times my
stake. However, I certainly got paid very high marks for
my paper.

I was now embarked on a military career. This orienta
tion was entirely due to my collection of soldiers. I had
ultimately nearly fifteen hundred. They were all of one
size, all British, and organised as an infantry division with a
cavalry brigade. My brother Jack commanded the hostile
army. But by a Treaty for the Limitation of Armaments
he was only allowed to have coloured troops, and they were
not allowed to have artillery. Very important! I could
muster myself only eighteen field-guns — besides fortress
pieces. But all the other services were complete — except one.
It is what every army is always short of — transport. My fa
ther's old friend, Sir Henry Drummond WolflF, admiring
my array, noticed this deficiency and provided a fund from
which it was to some extent supplied.

The day came when my father himself paid a formal visit
of inspection. All the troops were arranged in the correct
formation of attack. He spent twenty minutes studying the
scene — which was really impressive — with a keen eye and
captivating smile. At the end he asked me if I would like
to go into the Army. I thought it would be splendid to com
mand an Army, so I said 'Yes5 at once: and immediately I
was taken at my word. For years I thought my father with
his experience and flair had discerned in me the qualities of
military genius. But I was told later that he had only come
to the conclusion that I was not clever enough to go to the
Bar. However that may be, the toy soldiers turned the cur
rent of my life. Henceforward all my education was directed

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to passing into Sandhurst, and afterwards to the technical
details of the profession of arms. Anything else I had to pick
up for myself.

I spent nearly four and a half years at Harrow, of which
three were in the Army class. To this I was admitted in con
sequence of having passed the preliminary examination. It
consisted of boys of the middle and higher forms of the
school and of very different ages, all of whom were being
prepared either for the Sandhurst or the Woolwich exami
nation. We were withdrawn from the ordinary movement
of the school from form to form. In consequence I got no
promotion or very little and remained quite low down upon
the school list, though working alongside of boys nearly all
in the Fifth Form. Officially I never got out of the Lower
School, so I never had the privilege of having a fag of my
own. When in the passage of time I became what was called
ca three-yearer' I ceased to have to fag myself, and as I was
older than other boys of my standing, I was appointed in my
House to the position of Head of the Fags. This was my
first responsible office, and the duties, which were honorary,
consisted in keeping the roster of all the fags, making out
the lists of their duties and dates and placing copies of these
lists in the rooms of the monitors, football and cricket cham
pions and other members of our aristocracy. I discharged
these functions for upwards of a year, and on the whole I
was resigned to my lot.

Meanwhile I found an admirable method of learning my
Latin translations. I was always very slow at using a dic
tionary: it was just like using a telephone directory. It is
easy to open it more or less at the right letter, but then you
have to turn backwards and forwards and peer up and down
the columns and very often find yourself three or four pages
the wrong side of the word you want. In short I found it
most laborious, while to other boys it seemed no trouble.

HARROW

But now I formed an alliance with a boy in the Sixth Form.
He was very clever and could read Latin as easily as Eng
lish. Caesar, Ovid, Virgil, Horace and even MartiaPs epi
grams were all the same to him. My daily task was perhaps
ten or fifteen lines. This would ordinarily have taken me an
hour or an hour and a half to decipher, and then it would
probably have been wrong. But my friend could in five min
utes construe it for me word by word, and once I had seen
it exposed, I remembered it firmly. My Sixth-Form friend
for his part was almost as much troubled by the English
essays he had to write for the Headmaster as I was by these
Latin cross-word puzzles. We agreed together that he should
tell me my Latin translations and that I should do his essays.
The arrangement worked admirably. The Latin master
seemed quite satisfied with my work, and I had more time
to myself in the mornings. On the other hand once a week
or so I had to compose the essays of my Sixth-Form friend.
I used to walk up and down the room dictating — just as
I do now — and he sat in the corner and wrote it down in
long-hand. For several months no difficulty arose $ but once
we were nearly caught out. One of these essays was thought
to have merit. It Was csent up' to the Headmaster who sum
moned my friend, commended him on his work and pro
ceeded to discuss the topic with him in a lively spirit. CI was
interested in this point you make here. You might I think
have gone even further. Tell me exactly what you had in
your mind.' Dr. Welldon in spite of very chilling responses
continued in this way for some time to the deep consterna
tion of my confederate. However the Headmaster, not wish
ing to turn an occasion of praise into one of cavilling, finally
let him go with the remark cYou seem to be better at writ
ten than at oral work.' He came back to me like a man who
has had a very narrow squeak, and I was most careful ever
afterwards to keep to the beaten track in essay-writing.

Dr. Welldon took a friendly interest in me, and knowing
that I was weak in the Classics, determined to help me

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himself. His daily routine was heavy; but he added three
times a week a quarter of an hour before evening prayers
in which to give me personal tuition. This was a great con
descension for the Headmaster, who of course never taught
anyone but the monitors and the highest scholars. I was
proud of the honour: I shrank from the ordeal. If the reader
has ever learned any Latin prose he will know that at quite
an early stage one comes across the Ablative Absolute with
its apparently somewhat despised alternative *Quum with
the pluperfect subjunctive.' I always preferred cQuum.'
True he was a little longer to write, thus lacking the much
admired terseness and pith of the Latin language. On the
other hand he avoided a number of pitfalls. I was often
uncertain whether the Ablative Absolute should end in V
or V or V or 'is7 or cibus,? to the correct selection of which
great importance was attached. Dr. Welldon seemed to be
physically pained by a mistake being made in any of these
letters. I remember that later on Mr. Asquith used to have
just the same sort of look on his face when I sometimes
adorned a Cabinet discussion by bringing out one of my
few but faithful Latin quotations. It was more than an
noyance, it was a pang. Moreover Headmasters have powers
at their disposal with which Prime Ministers have never yet
been invested. So these evening quarters of an hour with
Dr. Welldon added considerably to the anxieties of my
life. I was much relieved when after nearly a whole term
of patient endeavour he desisted from his well-meant but
unavailing efforts.

I will here make some general observations about Latin
which probably have their application to Greek as well. In
a sensible language like English important words are con
nected and related to one another by other little words. The
Romans in that stern antiquity considered such a method
weak and unworthy. Nothing would satisfy them but that
the structure of every word should be reacted on. by its
neighbours in accordance with elaborate rules to meet the

HARROW

different conditions in which it might be used. There is no
doubt that this method both sounds and looks more impres
sive than our own. The sentence fits together like a piece
of polished machinery. Every phrase can be tensely charged
with meaning. It must have been very laborious, even if
you were brought up to it j but no doubt it gave the Romans,
and the Greeks too, a fine and easy way of establishing their
posthumous fame. They were the first comers in the fields
of thought and literature. When they arrived at fairly ob
vious reflections upon life and love, upon war, fate or man
ners, they coined them into the slogans or epigrams for
which their language was so well adapted, and thus pre
served the patent rights for all time. Hence their reputation.
Nobody ever told me this at school. I have thought it all
out in later life.

But even as a schoolboy I questioned the aptness of the
Classics for the prime structure of our education. So they
told me how Mr. Gladstone read Homer for fun, which I
thought served him right , and that it would be a great
pleasure to me in after life. When I seemed incredulous,
they added that classics would be a help in writing or speak
ing English. They then pointed out the number of our mod
ern words which are derived from the Latin or Greek. Ap
parently one could use these words much better, if one knew
the exact source from which they had sprung. I was fain to
admit a practical value. But now even this has been swept
away. The foreigners and the Scotch have joined together
to introduce a pronunciation of Latin which divorces it finally
from the English tongue. They tell us to pronounce 'audi
ence' 'owdience'; and 'civiP 'keyweel.' They have distorted
one of my most serviceable and impressive quotations into
the ridiculous booby cWainy, Weedy, Weeky.' Punishment
should be reserved for those who have spread this evil.

We shall see another instance of perverted pedantry when
we reach the Indian chapters of this book. When I was a
boy everyone wrote and said Tunjaub,' 'pundit,' 'Umbala,'

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etc. But then some learned notables came along saying <
you must spell them correctly.' So the Englishman now
refers to the Tan jab/ to the 'pandit so and so/ or to cthe
troubles at Ambala or Amritsar.7 When Indians hear him
they are astonished at his outlandish speech: and that is the
sole reward of his superior erudition. I am very conservative
in all these things. I always spell the Czar, *Czar.? As for
the Revised version of the Bible and the alterations in the
Prayer Book and especially the Marriage service, they are
grievous.

CHAPTER III

EXAMINATIONS

IT took me three tries to pass into Sandhurst. There were
five subjects, of which Mathematics, Latin and English
were obligatory, and I chose in addition French and Chem
istry. In this hand I held only a pair of Kings — English and
Chemistry. Nothing less than three would open the jack
pot. I had to find another useful card. Latin I could not
learn. I had a rooted prejudice which seemed to close my
mind against it. Two thousand marks were given for Latin.
I might perhaps get 400! French was interesting but rather
tricky, and difficult to learn in England. So there remained
only Mathematics. After the first Examination was over,
when one surveyed the battlefield, it was evident that the
war could not be won without another army being brought
into the line. Mathematics was the only resource available.
I turned to them — I turned on them — in desperation. All
my life from time to time I have had to get up disagreeable
subjects at short notice, but I consider my triumph, moral
and technical, was in learning Mathematics in six months.
At the first of these three ordeals I got no more than 500
marks out of 2,500 for Mathematics. At the second I got
nearly 2,000. I owe this achievement not only to my own
<back-to-the-walP resolution — for which no credit is too
great} but to the very kindly interest taken in my case by
a much respected Harrow master, Mr. C. H. P. Mayo. He
convinced me that Mathematics was not a hopeless bog of
nonsense, and that there were meanings and rhythms behind
the comical hieroglyphics j and that I was not incapable of
catching glimpses of some of these.

Of course what I call Mathematics is only what the Civil
Service Commissioners expected you to know to pass a very

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rudimentary examination. I suppose that to those who enjoy
this peculiar gift, Senior Wranglers and the like, the waters
in which I swam must seem only a duck-puddle compared
to the Atlantic Ocean. Nevertheless, when I plunged in, I
was soon out of my depth. When I look back upon those
care-laden months, their prominent features rise from the
abyss of memory. Of course I had progressed far beyond
Vulgar Fractions and the Decimal System. We were arrived
in an <Alice~in- Wonderland' world, at the portals of which
stood CA Quadratic Equation.' This with a strange grimace
pointed the way to the Theory of Indices, which again
handed on the intruder to the full rigours of the Binomial
Theorem. Further dim chambers lighted by sullen, sul
phurous fires were reputed to contain a dragon called the
'Differential Calculus.3 But this monster was beyond the
bounds appointed by the Civil Service Commissioners who
regulated this stage of Pilgrim's heavy journey. We turned
aside, not indeed to the uplands of the Delectable Moun
tains, but into a strange corridor of things like anagrams
and acrostics called Sines, Cosines and Tangents. Apparently
they were very important, especially when multiplied by
each other, or by themselves! They had also this merit —
you could learn many of their evolutions off by heart. There
was a question in my third and last Examination about these
Cosines and Tangents in a highly square-rooted condition
which must have been decisive upon the whole of my after
life. It was a problem. But luckily I had seen its ugly face
only a few days before and recognised it at first sight.

I have never met any of these creatures since. With my
third and successful examination they passed away like the
phantasmagoria of a fevered dream. I am assured that they
are most helpful in engineering, astronomy and things like
that. It is very important to build bridges and canals and to
comprehend all the stresses and potentialities of matter, to
say nothing of counting all the stars and even universes and
measuring how far off they are, and foretelling eclipses, the

EXAM I NAT IONS

arrival of comets and such like. I am very glad there are
quite a number of people born with a gift and a liking for
all of this j like great chess-players who play sixteen games
at once blindfold and die quite soon of epilepsy. Serve them
right! I hope the Mathematicians, however, are well re
warded. I promise never to blackleg their profession nor
take the bread out of their mouths.

I had a feeling once about Mathematics, that I saw it
all — Depth beyond depth was revealed to me — the Byss
and the Abyss. I saw, as one might see the transit of Venus
— or even the Lord Mayor's Show, a quantity passing
through infinity and changing its sign from plus to minus.
I saw exactly how it happened and why the tergiversation
was inevitable: and how the one step involved all the others.
It was like politics. But it was after dinner and. I let it go!

The practical point is that if this aged, weary-souled
Civil Service Commissioner had not asked this particular
question about these Cosines or Tangents in their squared
or even cubed condition, which I happened to have learned
scarcely a week before, not one of the subsequent chapters
of this book would ever have been written. I might have
gone into the Church and preached orthodox sermons in a
spirit of audacious contradiction to the age. I might have
gone into the City and made a fortune. I might have re
sorted to the Colonies, or 'Dominions' as they are now
called, in the hopes of pleasing, or at least placating them;
and thus had, a la Lindsay Gordon or Cecil Rhodes, a lurid
career. I might even have gravitated to the Bar, and per
sons might have been hanged through my defence who now
nurse their guilty secrets with complacency. Anyhow the
whole of my life would have been altered, and that I sup
pose would have altered a great many other lives, which in
their turn, and so on. ...

But here we seem to be getting back to mathematics, which
I quitted for ever in the year 1894. Let it suffice that this
Civil Service Commissioner putting this particular question

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in routine or caprice deflected, so far as I was concerned,
the entire sequence of events. I have seen Civil Service Com
missioners since. I have seen them in the flesh. I have even
appointed their Chief. I admire them. I honour them. We
all do. But no one, least of all themselves, would suppose
they could play so decisive and cardinal a part in human
affairs. Which brings me to my conclusion upon Free Will
and Predestination j namely — let the reader mark it — that
they are identical.

I have always loved butterflies. In Uganda I saw glori
ous butterflies the colour of whose wings changed from the
deepest russet brown to the most brilliant blue, according to
the angle from which you saw them. In Brazil as everyone
knows there are butterflies of this kind even larger and more
vivid- The contrast is extreme. You could not conceive colour
effects more violently opposed 5 but it is the same butterfly.
The butterfly is the Fact — gleaming, fluttering, settling for
an instant with wings fully spread to the sun, then vanish
ing in the shades of the forest. Whether you believe in Free
Will or Predestination, all depends on the slanting glimpse
you had of the colour of his wings — which are in fact at
least two colours at the same time. But I have not quitted
and renounced the Mathematick to fall into the Metaphysick.
Let us return to the pathway of narrative.

When I failed for the second time to pass into Sandhurst,
I bade farewell to Harrow and was relegated as a forlorn
hope to a ccrammer.? Captain James and his highly com
petent partners kept an establishment in the Cromwell Road.
It was said that no one who was not a congenital idiot could
avoid passing thence into the Army. The Firm had made a
scientific study of the mentality of the Civil Service Com
missioners. They knew with almost Papal infallibility the
sort of questions which that sort of person would be bound
on the average to ask on any of the selected subjects. They
specialised on these questions and on the answering of them.
They fired a large number of efficient shot-guns into the

EXAM I NAT IONS

brown of the covey, and they claimed a high and steady
average of birds. Captain James — if he had known it — was
really the ingenious forerunner of the inventors of the artil
lery barrages of the Great War. He fired from carefully
selected positions upon the areas which he knew must be
tenanted by large bodies of enemy troops. He had only to
fire a given number of shells per acre per hour to get his
bag. He did not need to see the enemy soldiers. Drill was
all he had to teach his gunners. Thus year by year for at
least two decades he held the Blue Ribbon among the Cram
mers. He was like one of those people who have a sure
system for breaking the Bank at Monte Carlo, with the
important difference that in a great majority of cases his
system produced success. Even the very hardest cases could
be handled. No absolute guarantee was given, but there
would always be far more than a sporting chance.

However, just as I was about to enjoy the advantage of
this renowned system of intensive poultry-farming, I met
with a very serious accident.

My aunt, Lady Wimborne, had lent us her comfortable
estate at Bournemouth for the winter. Forty or fifty acres
of pine forest descended by sandy undulations terminating
in cliffs to the smooth beach of the English Channel. It was
a small, wild place and through the middle there fell to
the sea level a deep cleft called a 'chine.' Across this 'chine'
a rustic bridge nearly 50 yards long had been thrown. I
was just 1 8 and on my holidays. My younger brother aged
12, and a cousin aged 14, proposed to chase me. After I had
been hunted for twenty minutes and was rather short of
breath, I decided to cross the bridge. Arrived at its centre
I saw to my consternation that the pursuers had divided
their forces. One stood at each end of the bridge 5 capture
seemed certain. But in a flash there came across me a great
project. The chine which the bridge spanned was full of
young fir trees. Their slender tops reached to the level of
the footway. 'Would it not/ I asked myself, 'be possible to

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leap on to one of them and slip down the pole-like stem,
breaking off each tier of branches as one descended, until
the fall was broken?' I looked at it. I computed it, I medi
tated. Meanwhile I climbed over the balustrade. My young
pursuers stood wonder-struck at either end of the bridge.
To plunge or not to plunge, that was the question! In a
second I had plunged, throwing out my arms to embrace
the summit of the fir tree. The argument was correct} the
data were absolutely wrong. It was three days before I re
gained consciousness and more than three months before
I crawled from my bed. The measured fall was 29 feet on
to hard ground. But no doubt the branches helped. My
mother, summoned by the alarming message of the children,
'He jumped over the bridge and he won't speak to us,' hur
ried down with energetic aid and inopportune brandy. It
was an axiom with my parents that in serious accident or
illness the highest medical aid should be invoked, regard
less of cost. Eminent specialists stood about my bed. Later
on when I could understand again, I was shocked and also
flattered to hear of the enormous fees they had been paid.
My father travelled over at full express from Dublin where
he had been spending his Christmas at one of old Lord
Fitzgibbon's once-celebrated parties. He brought the great
est of London surgeons with him. I had among other in
juries a ruptured kidney. It is to the surgeon's art and to
my own pronounced will-to-live that the reader is indebted
for this story. But for a year I looked at life round a corner.
They made a joke about it in those days at the Carlton
Club, 'I hear Randolph's son met with a serious accident.'
'Yes? Playing a game of Follow my Leader,' — 'Well, Ran
dolph is not likely to come to grief in that way!'

The Unionist Government had been beaten, though only
by forty, in the Summer Election of 1892 and Mr. Glad-

EXAMINATIONS

stone had taken office with the help of the Irish Nationalists.
The new Parliament, having met to change the Administra
tion, was in accordance with the wise and happy practice
of those days prorogued for a six months' holiday. The
Session of 1893 and the inevitable re-opening of the Home
Rule struggle were eagerly and anxiously awaited. Natu
rally our household had not been much grieved at the de
feat of what my father had described as ca Government and
party which for five years have boycotted and slandered
me.' In fact our whole family with its many powerful
branches and all his friends looked forward to the new sit
uation with lively hope. It was thought that he would in
Opposition swiftly regain the ascendancy in Parliament and
in his party which had been destroyed by his resignation six
years before.

No one cherished these hopes more ardently than I. Al
though in the past little had been said in my hearing, one
could not grow up in my father's house, and still less among
his mother and sisters, without understanding that there had
been a great political disaster. Dignity and reticence upon
this subject were invariably preserved before strangers, chil
dren and servants. Only once do I remember my father
having breathed a word of complaint about his fortunes to
me, and that for a passing moment. Only once did he lift
his visor in my sight. This was at our house at Newmarket
in the autumn of 1892. He had reproved me for startling
him by firing off a double-barrelled gun at a rabbit which
had appeared on the lawn beneath his windows. He had
been very angry and disturbed. Understanding at once that
I was distressed, he took occasion to reassure me. I then had
one of the three or four long intimate conversations with
him which are all I can boast. He explained how old people
were not always very considerate towards young people,
that they were absorbed in their own affairs and might well
speak roughly in sudden annoyance. He said he was glad I
liked shooting, and that he had arranged for me to shoot

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on September ist (this was the end of August) such par
tridges as our small property contained. Then he proceeded
to talk to me in the most wonderful and captivating manner
about school and going into the Army and the grown-up
life which lay beyond. I listened spellbound to this sudden
complete departure from his usual reserve, amazed at his
intimate comprehension of all my affairs. Then at the end
he said, *Do remember things do not always go right with
me. My every action is misjudged and every word distorted.
... So make some allowances.'

Of course J was his vehement partisan and so in her mild
way was Mrs. Everest, who had now become housekeeper
in my grandmother's house, 50, Grosvenor Square, where we
had all gone to live to save expense. When after twenty
years of faithful service she retired upon a pension, she en
trusted her savings to my father, who drove down to the
city in his private hansom to a special luncheon with Lord
Rothschild at New Court for the purpose of investing them
with the utmost security and advantage. I knew quite well
that the 'Old Gang7 of the Conservative Party owed their
long reign to his personal fighting, and to his revival of
Tory democracy, and that at his first slip — a grave one —
they had shown themselves utterly destitute of generosity
or gratitude. We all of course looked forward to his re-
conquest of power. We saw as children the passers-by take
off their hats in the streets and the workmen grin when
they saw his big moustache. For years I had read every word
he spoke and what the newspapers said about him. Although
he was only a private member and quite isolated, everything
he said even at the tiniest bazaar was reported verbatim in
all the newspapers, and every phrase was scrutinized and
weighed. Now it seemed that his chance had come again.

I had been carried to London, and from my bed I fol
lowed with keen interest the political events of 1893. For
this I was well circumstanced. My mother gave me full
accounts of what she heard, and Mr. Edward Marjoribanks,

EXAM I NAT IONS

afterwards Lord Tweedmouth, Mr. Gladstone's Chief
Whip, was married to my father's sister Fanny. We thus
shared in a detached way the satisfaction of the Liberals at
coming back to power after their long banishment. We heard
some at least of their hopes and fears. Politics seemed very
important and vivid to my eyes in those days. They were
directed by statesmen of commanding intellect and person
ality. The upper classes in their various stations took part
in them as a habit and as a duty. The working men whether
they had votes or not followed them as a sport. They took
as much interest in national affairs and were as good judges
of form in public men, as is now the case about cricket or
football. The newspapers catered obediently for what was
at once an educated and a popular taste.

Favoured at first by the indulgences accorded to an in
valid, I became an absorbed spectator of Mr. Gladstone's
last great Parliamentary battle. Indeed it far outweighed
in my mind the dreaded Examination — the last shot — which
impended in August. As time wore on I could not help
feeling that my father's speeches were not as good as they
used to be. There were some brilliant successes: yet on the
whole he seemed to be hardly holding his own. I hoped of
course that I should grow up in time to come to his aid. I
knew that he would have received such a suggestion with
unaffected amusement j but I thought of Austen Chamber
lain who was allowed to fight at his father's side, and Her
bert Gladstone who had helped the Grand Old Man to cut
down the oak trees and went everywhere with him, and I
dreamed of days to come when Tory democracy would dis
miss the 'Old Gang' with one hand and defeat the Radicals
with the other.

During this year I met at my father's house many of the
leading figures of the Parliamentary conflict, and was often
at luncheon or dinner when across his table not only eol-
leagues, but opponents, amicably interchanged opinions on
the burning topics of the hour. It was then that I first met

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Mr. Balfour, Mr. Chamberlain, Mr. Edward Carson and
also Lord Rosebery, Mr. Asquith, Mr. John Morley and
other fascinating ministerial figures. It seemed a very great
world in which these men lived ; a world where high rules
reigned and every trifle in public conduct counted: a duel
ling-ground where although the business might be ruthless,
and the weapons loaded with ball, there was ceremonious
personal courtesy and mutual respect. But of course I saw
this social side only when my father had either intimate
friends or persons of high political consequence as his guests.
I have heard that on neutral ground he was incredibly fierce,
and affronted people by saying the most blunt or even sav
age things. Certainly those who did not know him well
approached him with caution or heavily armed.

So soon as I was convalescent I began to go to the House
of Commons and listen to the great debates. I even man
aged to squeeze in to the Distinguished Strangers' Gallery
when Mr. Gladstone wound up the second reading of the
Home Rule Bill. Well do I remember the scene and some
of its incidents. The Grand Old Man looked like a great
white eagle at once fierce and splendid. His sentences rolled
forth majestically and everyone hung upon his lips and ges
tures, eager to cheer or deride. He wa§ at the climax of a
tremendous passage about how the Liberal Party had al
ways carried every cause it had espoused to victory. He
made a slip, 'And there is no cause/ he exclaimed (Home
Rule), 'for which the Liberal Party has suffered so much
or descended so low? How the Tories leapt and roared
with delight! But Mr. Gladstone, shaking his right hand
with fingers spread clawlike, quelled the tumult and re
sumed 'But we have risen again. . . .'

I was also a witness of his celebrated tribute to Mr.
Chamberlain on his son Austen's maiden speech. CI will not
enter upon any elaborate eulogy of that speech. I will endeav
our to sum up in a few words what I desire to say of it. It was
a speech which must have been dear and refreshing to a

EXAMIN AT IONS

father's heart.' From where I crouched on the floor of the
Gallery peering through the balustrade I could see the
effect these words instantaneously produced on Mr. Cham
berlain. He was hit as if a bullet had struck him. His pale
almost sallow countenance turned pink with emotion he
could not, or did not care to restrain. He half rose and made
a little bow, and then hunched himself up with lowered
head. There does not seem to be much in these words how
ever well chosen, when they are written down. It was the
way the thing was done that swept aside for a moment the
irreparable enmities of years.

On another occasion when I was in the Gallery I heard
my father and Sir William Harcourt have some very fierce
and rough interchanges. Sir William seemed to be quite
furious and most unfair in his reply, and I was astonished
when only a few minutes later, he made his way up to
where I sat and with a beaming smile introduced himself
to me, and asked me what I thought of it all.

What with the, after-weakness of my accident and these
political excitements Captain James hardly had a fair chance
in preparing me for my examination. Nevertheless my third
attempt achieved a modified success. I qualified for a cav
alry cadetship at Sandhurst. The competition for the infan
try was keener, as life in the cavalry was so much more
expensive. Those who were at the bottom of the list were
accordingly offered the easier entry into the cavalry. I was
delighted at having passed the examination and even more
at the prospect of soldiering on horseback. I had already
formed a definite opinion upon the relative advantages of
riding and walking. What fun it would be having a horse!
Also the uniforms of the cavalry -were far more magnificent
than those of the Foot. It was therefore in an expansive
spirit that I wrote to my father. I found to my surprise that

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he took a contrary view. He thought it very discreditable
that I had not qualified for the infantry. He had proposed
that I should enter the 6oth Rifles, a famous four-battalion
regiment which although habited in black had a red flash on
cuffs and collar. 'By going into the 6oth Rifles/ he had said,
'you will be able to serve two or three years in a Mediter
ranean fortress, and thus be fully matured before you begin
your service in India.' He had, it seemed, already written
to -the Duke of Cambridge who was the Colonel-in-Chief
of the 6oth, suggesting that I should ultimately enter his
regiment, and had received a gracious response. Now all
these plans were upset, and upset in the most inconvenient
and expensive manner. The Duke would never have a chance
of welcoming me: and cavalry are not required in Mediter
ranean fortresses. 'In the infantry,' my father had remarked,
'one has to keep a manj in the cavalry a man and a horse
as well.7 This was not only true, but even an understate
ment. Little did he foresee not only one horse, but two of
ficial chargers and one or two hunters besides — to say noth
ing of the indispensable string of polo ponies! Nevertheless
he was extremely dissatisfied and in due course I received
from him a long and very severe letter expressing the bleak
est view of my educational career, showing a marked lack
of appreciation at my success in the examination, which he
suggested I had only scraped through, and warning me of
the danger in which I plainly lay of becoming a 'social
wastrel!' I was pained and startled by this communication,
and made haste to promise better results in the future. All
the same I rejoiced at going to Sandhurst, and at the pros
pect of becoming a real live cavalry officer in no more than
1 8 months: and I busied myself in ordering the considerable
necessary outfit of a gentleman-cadet.

My brother and I were sent this summer by our parents
for a so-called walking-tour in Switzerland, with a tutor*

EXAMI NAT IONS

I need hardly say we travelled by train so far as the money
lasted. The tutor and I climbed mountains. We climbed the
Wetterhorn and Monte Rosa. The spectacle of the sunrise
striking the peaks of the Bernese Oberland is a marvel of
light and colour unsurpassed in my experience* I longed to
climb the Matterhorn, but this was not only too expensive
but held by the tutor to be too dangerous. All this prudence
however might easily have been upset by an incident which
happened to me in the lake of Lausanne. I record this in
cident that it may be a warning to others. I went for a row
with another boy a little younger than myself. When we
were more than a mile from the shore, we decided to have
a swim, pulled off our clothes, jumped into the water and
swam about in great delight. When we had had enough, the
boat was perhaps 100 yards away. A breeze had begun to
stir the waters. The boat had a small red awning over its
stern seats. This awning acted as a sail by catching the
breeze. As we swam towards the boat, it drifted farther off.
After this had happened several times we had perhaps
halved the distance. But meanwhile the breeze was freshen
ing and we both, especially my companion, began to be
tired. Up to this point no idea of danger had crossed my
mind. The sun played upon the sparkling blue waters; the
wonderful panorama of mountains and valleys, the gay
hotels and villas still smiled. But I now saw Death as near
as I believe I have ever seen Him. He was swimming in
the water at our side, whispering from time to time in the
rising wind which continued to carry the boat away from us
at about the same speed we could swim. No help was near.
Unaided we could never reach the shore. I was not only an
easy, but a fast swimmer, having represented my House at
Harrow, when our team defeated all comers. I now swam
for life. Twice I reached within a yard of the boat and each
time a gust carried it just beyond my reach; but by a ^su
preme effort I caught hold of its side in the nick of time
before a still stronger gust bulged the red awning again. I

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scrambled in, and rowed back for my companion who, though
tired, had not apparently realised the dull yellow glare of
mortal peril that had so suddenly played around us. I said
nothing to the tutor about this serious experience; but I
have never forgotten it; and perhaps some of my readers
will remember it too.

My stay at the Royal Military College formed an inter
mediate period in my life. It brought to a close nearly 12
years of school. Thirty-six terms each of many weeks (in
terspersed with all-too-short holidays) during the whole of
which I had enjoyed few gleams of success, in which I had
hardly ever been asked to learn anything which seemed of
the slightest use or interest, or allowed to play any game
which was amusing. In retrospect these years form not only
the least agreeable, but the only barren and unhappy period
of my life. I was happy as a child with my toys in my
nursery. I have been happier every year since I became a
man. But this interlude of school makes a sombre grey patch
upon the chart of my journey. It was an unending spell of
worries that did not then seem petty, and of toil uncheered
by fruition; a time of discomfort, restriction and purpose
less monotony.

This train of thought must not lead me to exaggerate
the character of my schooldays. Actually no doubt they
were buoyed up by the laughter and high spirits of youth.
Harrow was a very good school, and a high standard of
personal service prevailed among its masters. Most of the
boys were very happy, and many found in its classrooms
and upon its playing-fields the greatest distinction they have
ever known in life. I can only record the fact that, no doubt
through my own shortcomings, I was an exception, I would
far rather have been apprenticed as a bricklayer's mate, or
run errands as a messenger boy, or helped my father to
dress the front windows of a grocer's shop. It would have
been real} it would have been natural; it would have taught
me more; and I should have done it much better. Also I

EXAM I N ATI O NS

should have got to know my father, which would have been
a joy to me.

Certainly the prolonged education indispensable to the
progress of Society is not natural to mankind. It cuts against
the grain. A boy would like to follow his father in pursuit
of food or prey- He would like to be doing serviceable
things so far as his -utmost strength allowed. He would like
to be earning wages however small to help to keep up the
home. He would like to have some leisure of his own to
use or misuse as he pleased. He would ask little more than
the right to work or starve. And then perhaps in the eve
nings a real love of learning would come to those who were
worthy — and why try to stuff it into those who are not? —
and knowledge and thought would open the 'magic case
ments' of the mind.

I was on the whole considerably discouraged by my school
days. Except in Fencing, in which I had won the Public
School Championship, I had achieved no distinction. All
my contemporaries and even younger boys' seemed in every
way better adapted to the conditions of our little world.
They were far better both at the games and at the lessons.
It is not pleasant to feel oneself so completely outclassed
and left behind at the very beginning of the race. I had
been surprised on taking leave of Dr. Welldon to hear him
predict, with a confidence for which I could see no founda
tion, that I should be able to make my way all right. I have
always been very grateful to him for this.

I am all for the Public Schools but I do not want to go
there again.

My greatest friend at Harrow was Jack Milbanke. He
was nearly two years my senior. He was the son of an old
baronet whose family had lived at Chichester for many gen
erations. He was not remarkable either at games or lessons.
In these spheres he was only slightly above the average of
his contemporaries. But he had a style and distinction of
manner which were exceptional, and a mature outlook and

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conversation the like of which I never saw in any other
Harrow boy. He was always the great gentleman, self-
composed, cool, sedate, spick and span and faultlessly
dressed. When my father came down to see me, he used to
take us both to luncheon at the King's Head Hotel. I was
thrilled to hear them talk, as if they were equals, with the
easy assurance of one man of the world to another. I envied
him so much. How I should have loved to have that sort
of relationship with my father! But alas I was only a back
ward schoolboy and my incursions into the conversation were
nearly always awkward or foolish.

Milbanke and I embarked upon one adventure together.
We discovered that by an old custom there should be
no compulsory football in trial week. This rule had fallen
into desuetude for some years. We therefore refused to
play, citing the custom and alleging that we must concen
trate upon our studies. By so doing we courted a severe
caning from the monitors. Nevertheless it could not be de
nied that we 'had the law of them.' The issue was gravely
debated in the highest circles. For three or four days we did
not know what our fate would be. Our case was prejudiced
by the suspicion that we were not wearing ourselves out by
study, but on the contrary might even have been called
idle. However in the end it was decided that we must have
our way, and I trust the precedent thus boldly established
has not been lost in later generations.

Milbanke was destined for the Army and had set his
heart upon the loth Hussars. His father allowed him to go
in through the Militia, a course which though slightly
longer, avoided most of the examinations. He therefore
left Harrow a year before I did and soon blossomed out
into a Militia subaltern. We kept up a regular correspond
ence and often saw each other in the holidays. We shall
meet him again in these pages. He was destined to the
highest military honours. He gained the Victoria Cross in
the South African War for rescuing, when he was already

EXAM I NAT IONS

grievously wounded, one of his troopers under a deadly fire.
He fell in the Gallipoli Peninsula, leading a forlorn attack
in the awful battle of Suvla Bay.

I enjoyed the Harrow songs. They have an incompara
ble book of school songs. At intervals we used to gather in
the Speech Room, or even in our own Houses, and sing these
splendid and famous choruses. I believe these songs are the
greatest treasure that Harrow possesses. There is certainly
nothing like them at Eton. There they have only got one
song and that about Rowing, which though good exercise is
poor sport and poorer poetry. We used also to have lec
tures from eminent persons on scientific or historical subjects.
These made a great impression on me. To have an exciting
story told you by someone who is a great authority, especi
ally if he has a magic lantern, is for me the best way of
learning. Once I had heard the lecture and had listened
with great attention, I could have made a very fair show
of delivering it myself. I remember five lectures particu
larly to this day. The first by Mr. Bowen, the most cele
brated of Harrow masters and the author of many of our
finest songs, gave us a thrilling account in popular form of
the battle of Waterloo. He gave another lecture on the
battle of Sedan which I greatly enjoyed. Some years after
wards I found that he had taken it almost literally from
Hooper's Sedan — one of my colonel's favourite books. It
was none the worse for that. There was a lecture on climb
ing the Alps by the great Mr. Whymper with wonderful
pictures of guides and tourists hanging on by their eyelids or
standing with their backs to precipices which even in photo
graphs made one squirm. There was a lecture about how
butterflies protect themselves by their colouring. A nasty
tasting butterfly has gaudy colouring to warn the bird not
to eat it. A succulent, juicy-tasting butterfly protects him
self by making himself exactly like his usual branch or leaf.

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But this takes them millions of years to do; and in the mean
while the more backward ones get eaten and die out. That is
why the survivors are marked and coloured as they are.
Lastly we had a lecture from Mr. Parkin on Imperial Fed
eration. He told us how at Trafalgar Nelson's signal —
'England expects that every man this day will do his duty'
— ran down the line of battle, and how if we and our Colo
nies all held together, a day would come when such a signal
would run not merely along a line of ships, but along a line
of nations. We lived to see this come true, and I was able to
remind the aged Mr. Parkin of it, when in the last year of
his life he attended some great banquet in celebration of our
victorious emergence from the Great War.

I wonder they do not have these lectures more often.
They might well have one every fortnight, and afterwards
all the boys should be set to work to write first what they
could remember about it, and secondly what they could
think about it. Then the masters would soon begin to find
out who could pick things up as they went along and make
them into something new, and who were the dullards; and
the classes of the school would soon get sorted out accord
ingly.

Thus Harrow would not have stultified itself by keep
ing me at the bottom of the school, and I should have had
a much jollier time.

CHAPTER IV

SANDHURST

Ar Sandhurst I had a new start. I was no longer handi
capped by past neglect of Latin, French or Mathe
matics. We had now to learn fresh things and we all started
equal. Tactics, Fortification, Topography (mapmaking),
Military Law and Military Administration formed the
whole curriculum. In addition were Drill, Gymnastics and
Riding. No one need play any game unless he wanted to.
Discipline was strict and the hours of study and parade were
long. One was very tired at the end of the day. I was
deeply interested in my work, especially Tactics and Forti
fication. My father instructed his bookseller Mr. Bain to
send me any books I might require for my studies. So I
ordered Hamley's Operations of War, Prince Kraft's Let
ters on Infantry, Cavalry and Artillery, Maine's Infantry
Fire Tactics, together with a number of histories dealing
with the American Civil, Franco-German and Russo-Turk-
ish wars, which were then our latest and best specimens
of wars. I soon had a small military library which invested
the regular instruction with some sort of background. I did
not much like the drill and indeed figured for several
months in the 'Awkward Squad,' formed from those who
required special smartening up. But the practical work in
field fortification was most exciting. We dug trenches, con
structed breastworks, revetted parapets with sandbags, with
heather, with fascines, or with 'Jones' iron band gabion.' We
put up chevaux de f rises and made fougasses (a kind of
primitive land mine). We cut railway lines with slabs of
guncotton, and learned how to blow up masonry bridges, or
make substitutes out of pontoons or timber. We drew con
toured maps of all the hills round Camberley, made road

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reconnaissances in every direction, and set out picket lines and
paper plans for advanced guards or rear guards, and even
did some very simple tactical schemes. We were never
taught anything about bombs or hand-grenades, because of
course these weapons were known to be long obsolete. They
had gone out of use in the eighteenth century, and would be
quite useless in modern war.

All this was no doubt very elementary, and our minds
were not allowed to roam in working hours beyond a sub
altern's range of vision. But sometimes I was invited to dine
at the Staff College, less than a mile away, where all the
cleverest officers in the Army were being trained for the
High Command. Here the study was of divisions, army
corps and even whole armies; of bases, of supplies, and
lines of communication and railway strategy. This was thrill
ing. It did seem such a pity that it all had to be make-
believe, and that the age of wars between civilized nations
had come to an end for ever. If it had only been 100 years
earlier what splendid times we should have had! Fancy
being nineteen in 1793 with more than twenty years of war
against Napoleon in front of one! However, all that was
finished. The British Army had never fired on white troops
since the Crimea, and now that the world was growing so
sensible and pacific — and so democratic too — the great days
were over. Luckily, however, there were still savages and
barbarous peoples. There were Zulus and Afghans, also the
Dervishes of the Soudan. Some of these might, if they were
well-disposed, 'put up a show' some day. There might even
be a mutiny or a revolt in India. At that time the natives
had adopted a mysterious practice of smearing the mango
trees, and we all fastened hopefully upon an article in the
Spectator which declared that perhaps in a few months we
might have India to reconquer. We wondered about all this.
Of course we should all get our commissions so much earlier
and march about the plains of India and win medals and dis
tinction, and perhaps rise to very high command like Clive

SAN D H U RST

when quite young! These thoughts were only partially con
soling, for after all fighting the poor Indians, compared with
taking part in a real European war, was only like riding in
a paper-chase instead of in the Grand National. Still one
must make the best one can of the opportunities of the age.

I enjoyed the riding-school thoroughly, and got on —
and off — as well as most. My father arranged in my holi
days, or vacations as it was now proper to call them, for me
to go through an additional course of riding-school at
Knightsbridge Barracks with the Royal Horse Guards. I bit
the tan there on numerous occasions. Afterwards when I
joined my regiment I had another full five months' course,
and taking them altogether, I think I was pretty well trained
to sit and manage a horse. This is one of the most important
things in the world.

Horses were the greatest of my pleasures at Sandhurst.
I and the group in which I moved spent all our money on
hiring horses from the very excellent local livery stables.
We ran up bills on the strength of our future commissions.
We organized point-to-points and even a steeplechase in
the park of a friendly grandee, and bucketted gaily about
the countryside. And here I say to parent%s, especially to
wealthy parents, 'Don't give your son money. As far as you
can afford it, give him horses.' No one ever came to grief —
except honourable grief — through riding horses. No hour of
life is lost that is spent in the saddle. Young men have
often been ruined through owning horses, or through back
ing horses, but never through riding them 5 unless of course
they break their necks, which, taken at a gallop, is a very
good death to die.

Once I became a gentleman cadet I acquired a new status
in my father's eyes. I was entitled when on leave to go
about with him, if it was not inconvenient. He was always
amused by acrobats, jugglers, and performing animals $ and
it was with him that I first visited the Empire Theatre. He
took me also to important political parties at Lord Roth-

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schilcPs house at Tring, where most of the leaders and a
selection of the rising men of the Conservative Party were
often assembled. He began to take me also to stay with his
racing friends; and here we had a different company and
new topics of conversation which proved equally entertain
ing. In fact to me he seemed to own the key to everything or
almost everything worth having. But if ever I began to show
the slightest idea of comradeship, he was immediately
offended; and when once I suggested that I might help his
private secretary to write some of his letters, he froze me
into stone. I know now that this would have been only a
passing phase. Had he lived another four or five years, he
could not have done without me. But there were no four or
five years! Just as friendly relations were ripening into an
Entente, and an alliance or at least a military agreement
seemed to my mind not beyond the bounds of reasonable
endeavour, he vanished for ever.

In the spring of 1894 it became clear to all of us that my
father was gravely ill. He still persisted in his political
work. Almost every week he delivered a speech at some
important centre. No one could fail to see that these ef
forts were increasingly unsuccessful. The verbatim reports
dropped from three to two columns and then to one and a
half. On one occasion The Times mentioned that the hall
was not filled. Finally I heard my mother and the old
Duchess — who so often disagreed — both urging him to take
a rest, while he persisted that he was all right and that
everything was going well. I knew that these two who
were so near and devoted to him would never have pressed
him thus without the gravest need.

I can see my father now in a somewhat different light
from the days when I wrote his biography. I have long
passed the age at which he died. I understand only too
plainly the fatal character of his act of resignation. He
was 'the daring pilot in extremity.' That was his hour. But
conditions changed with the Unionist victory of 1886. Quiet

LORD RANDOLPH CHURCHILL

Aged 36
Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House of Commons

SANDH URST

times were required and political repose. Lord Salisbury
represented to the nation what it needed and desired. He
settled down heavily to a long steady reign. Naturally he
was glad to have the whole power in his own hands, instead
of dividing it with a restless rival, entrenched in the leader
ship of the House of Commons and the control of the public
purse. It is never possible for a man to recover his lost
position. He may recover another position in the fifties or
sixties, but not the one he lost in the thirties or forties. To
hold the leadership of a party or nation with dignity and
authority requires that the leader's qualities and message
shall meet not only the need but the mood of both.

Moreover from the moment Lord Randolph Churchill
became Chancellor of the Exchequer responsible in large
measure for the affairs of the nation, he ceased in vital mat
ters to be a Tory. He adopted with increasing zest the Glad-
stonian outlook, with the single exception of Irish Home
Rule; and in all social and labour questions he was far
beyond what the Whig or middle-class Liberal of that epoch
could have tolerated. Even on Ireland his convictions were
unusually independent. The Conservative Party would not
have relished any of this. Indeed I think if he had lived to
keep his health, it is more than likely that he would have
resisted the South African War to an extent that would have
exposed him to odium with the very working-class elements
of whose good-will he was so proud. His only real card of
re-entry would have been to have forestalled Mr. Chamber
lain's Protection campaign. Everything that I know suggests
to me that he would far more likely have been one of its
chief opponents. He was not the man to take his decisions
from party caucuses. When he Was faction-fighting he fought
to win, seizing anything that came along. But when responsi
ble, his contribution to public affairs was faithful and origi
nal. He never sat down to play a cold, calculated game. He
said what he thought. It was better so.

Mr. Gladstone's reputation as an orator depends less upon

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his published speeches than upon the effect they produced at
the time upon the audience. Lord Randolph Churchill's
place in our political history is measured not by his words
and actions, but by the impression which his personality
made upon his contemporaries. This was intense, and had
circumstances continued favourable, might well have mani
fested itself in decisive episodes. He embodied that force,
caprice and charm which so often springs from genius.

Now that I have been reading over all the letters which
he wrote to me laboriously with his own hand after the
fashion of those days, I feel that I did not at the time appre
ciate how much he thought and cared for me. More than
ever do I regret that we did not live long enough in com
pany to know each other. I used to go to see Lord Rose-
bery in the later years of his life because, apart from the
respect I bore this distinguished man, I loved to hear him
talk about my father. I had a feeling of getting nearer to
my father when I talked with his intimate and illustrious
friend. The last time I saw Lord Rosebery I said how much
I should have liked to roll back the years, and talk about
things with my father on even terms. The aged statesman
said in a wonderful way: cAh! he'd have understood.'

I was making a road map on Chobham Common in June,
1894, when a cyclist messenger brought me the college ad
jutant's order to proceed at once to London. My father was
setting out the next day on a journey round the world. An
ordinary application to the college authorities for my being
granted special leave of absence had been refused as a mat
ter of routine. He had telegraphed to the Secretary of State
for War, Sir Henry Campbell Bannerman, 'My last day in
England' * . . and no time had been lost in setting me on
my way to London.

We drove to the station the next morning — my mother,
my younger brother and I. In spite of the great beard which

SAN DHURST

he had grown during his South African journey four years
before, his face looked terribly haggard and worn with
mental pain. He patted me on the knee in a gesture which
however simple was perfectly informing.

There followed his long journey round the world. I never
saw him again, except as a swiftly-fading shadow.

I learned several things at Sandhurst which showed me
how to behave and how officers of different ranks were ex
pected to treat one another in the life and discipline of a regi
ment. My company commander, Major Ball, of the Welsh
regiment, was a very strict and peppery martinet. Formal,
reserved, frigidly courteous, punctilious, impeccable, severe,
he was held in the greatest awe. It had never been his for
tune to go on active service, but we were none the less sure
that he would have had to be killed to be beaten.

The rule was, that if you went outside the college bounds,
you first of all wrote your name in the company leave-book,
and might then assume that your request was sanctioned.
One day I drove a tandem (hired) over to Aldershot to see
a friend in a militia battalion then training there. As I
drove down the Marlborough lines, whom should I meet
but Major Ball himself driving a spanking dog-cart home
to Sandhurst. As I took off my hat to him, I remembered
with a flash of anxiety that I had been too lazy or careless
to write my name in the leave-book. However, I thought,
'there is still a chance. He may not look at it until Mess 5
and I will write my name down as soon as I get back.' I
curtailed my visit to the militia battalion and hastened back
to the college as fast as the ponies could trot. It was six
o'clock when I got in. I ran along the passage to the desk
where the leave-book lay, and the first thing that caught
my eyes was the Major's initials, CO.B.' at the foot of the
leaves granted for the day. I was too late. He had seen me
in Aldershot and had seen that my name was not in the

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book. Then I looked again, and there to my astonishment
was my own name written in the Major's hand- writing and
duly approved by his initials.

This opened my eyes to the kind of life which existed
in the old British army and how the very strictest discipline
could be maintained among officers without the slightest
departure from the standards of a courteous and easy society.
Naturally after such a rebuke I never was so neglectful
again.

Very much the same thing happened one day in the winter
of 1915 when I was serving with the Grenadier Guards
in front of Laventie. Our Colonel, then the well-known
<Ma' Jeffreys a super-martinet, and a splendid officer ut
terly unaffected by sixteen months of the brunt, deprecated
the use of alcohol (apart from the regular rum ration) on
duty, even under the shocking winter weather and in the
front line. It was his wish, though not his actual order, that
it should not be taken into the trenches. In a dark and
dripping dug-out a bottle of port was being consumed, when
the cry 'Commanding officer,7 was heard and Colonel Jef
freys began to descend the steps. A young officer in whom
there evidently lay the germs of military genius instinctively
stuck the guttering candle which lighted the dug-out into the
mouth of the bottle. Such candlesticks were common. Every
thing passed off perfectly. However, six months later this
young officer found himself on leave in the Guards' Club,
and there met Colonel Jeffreys. 'Have a glass of port wine?'
said the Colonel. The subaltern accepted. The bottle was
brought and the glasses emptied: 'Does it taste of candle
grease?' said the Colonel 5 and they both laughed together.

In my last term at Sandhurst — if the reader will permit
a digression — my indignation was excited by the Purity
Campaign of Mrs. Ormiston Chant. This lady was a mem
ber of the London County Council and in the summer of

SAND HURST

1894 she started an active movement to purge our music-
halls. Her attention was particularly directed to the prome
nade of the Empire Theatre. This large space behind the
dress circle was frequently crowded during the evening
performances, and especially on Saturdays, with young peo
ple of both sexes, who not only conversed together during
the performance and its intervals, but also from time to
time refreshed themselves with alcoholic liquors. Mrs.
Ormiston Chant and her friends made a number of allega
tions affecting both the sobriety and the morals of these
merrymakers 5 and she endeavoured to procure the closing
of the Promenade and above all of the bars which abutted
on it. It seemed that the majority of the English public
viewed these matters in a different light. Their cause was
championed by the Daily Telegraph, in those days our lead
ing popular newspaper. In a series of powerful articles
headed Trades on the Prow? the Daily Telegraph inaugu
rated a wide and spirited correspondence to which persons
were wont to contribute above such pseudonyms as 'Mother
of Five,5 'Gentleman and Christian,' 'Live and Let Live/
'John Bull' and so forth. The controversy aroused keen
public interest 5 but nowhere was it more searchingly debated
than among my Sandhurst friends. We were accustomed to
visit this very promenade in the brief leave allowed to us
twice a month from Saturday noon till Sunday midnight.
We were scandalised by Mrs. Chant's charges and insinua
tions. We had never seen anything to complain of in the
behaviour of either sex. Indeed the only point upon which
criticism, as it seemed to us, might justly be directed was
the strict and even rough manner in which the enormous
uniformed commissionaires immediately removed, and even
thrust forcibly into the street, anyone who had inadvertently
overstepped the bounds of true temperance. We thought
Mrs. Ormiston Chant's movement entirely uncalled-for and
contrary to the best traditions of British freedom.

In this cause I was keenly anxious to strike a blow. I

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noticed one day in the Daily Telegraph that a gentleman
— whose name escapes me — proposed to found a League
of Citizens to resist and counter the intolerance of Mrs.
Chant and her backers. This was to be called 'The Enter
tainments Protection League.' The League proposed to form
committees and an executive, to take offices and enrol mem
bers, to collect subscriptions, to hold public meetings and
to issue literature in support of its views. I immediately
volunteered my services. I wrote to the pious Founder at the
address which he had given, expressing my cordial agree
ment with his aims and my readiness to co-operate in every
lawful way. In due course I received an answer on impres
sively-headed notepaper informing me that my support was
welcomed, and inviting my attendance at the first meeting
of the Executive Committee, which was to be held on the
following Wednesday at 6 o'clock in a London hotel.

Wednesday was a half-holiday, and well-conducted cadets
could obtain leave to go to London simply by asking for it. I
occupied the three days' interval in composing a speech which
I thought I might be called upon to deliver to a crowded
executive of stern-faced citizens, about to unfurl that flag
of British freedom for which 'Hampden died on the battle
field and Sidney on the scaffold.' As I had never attempted
to speak in public before, it was a serious undertaking. I
wrote and rewrote my speech three or four times over,
and committed it in all its perfection to my memory. It
was a serious constitutional argument upon the inherent
rights of British subjects} upon the dangers of State inter
ference with the social habits of law-abiding persons 5 and
upon the many evil consequences which inevitably follow
upon repression not supported by healthy public opinion.
It did not overstate the case, nor was it blind to facts. It
sought to persuade by moderation and good-humour, and
to convince by logic tempered with common sense. There
was even in its closing phases an appeal for a patient mood
towards our misguided opponents. Was there not always

SANDH URST

more error than malice in human affairs? This task com
pleted I awaited eagerly and at the same time nervously the
momentous occasion.

As soon as our morning tasks were done I gobbled a
hasty luncheon, changed into plain clothes (we were taught
to abhor the word cmufti,' and such abominable expressions
as 'civvies' were in those days unknown) and hastened to
the railway station, where I caught a very slow train to
London. I must mention that this was for me a time of
straitened finance; in fact the cost of the return railway
ticket left me with only a few shillings in my pocket, and
it was more than a fortnight before my next monthly allow
ance of £10 was due. I whiled away the journey by rehears
ing the points and passages on which I principally relied.
I drove in a hansom cab from Waterloo to Leicester Square
near which the hotel appointed for the meeting of the Ex
ecutive was situated. I was surprised and a little disconcerted
at the dingy and even squalid appearance of these back
streets and still more at the hotel when my cab eventually
drew up before it. However, I said to myself, they are
probably quite right to avoid the fashionable quarters. If this
movement is to prosper it must be based upon the people's
will; it must respond to those simple instincts which all
classes have in common. It must not be compromised by
association with gilded youth or smart society. To the porter
I said CI have come to attend the meeting of the Entertain
ments Protection League announced to be held this day in
your hotel.'

The porter looked rather puzzled, and then said CI think
there's a gentleman in the smoking-room about that.' Into
the smoking-room, a small dark apartment, I was accord
ingly shown, and there I met face to face the Founder of the
new body. He was alone. I was upset; but concealing my
depression under the fast-vanishing rays of hope, I asked
'When do we go up to the meeting?' He too seemed em
barrassed. <I have written to several people, but they have

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none of them turned up, so there's only you and me. We can
draw up the Constitution ourselves, if you like.' I said 'But
you wrote to me on the headed paper of the League,5 'Well/
he said 'that only cost 5^. It's always a good thing to have a
printed heading on your notepaper in starting these sort of
things. It encourages people to come forward. You see it
encouraged you!' He paused as if chilled by my reserve,
then added, 'It's very difficult to get people to do anything
in England now. They take everything lying down. I do not
know what's happened to the country; they seem to have no
spirit left.'

Nothing was to be gained by carrying the matter further
and less than nothing by getting angry with the Founder
of the League. So I bade him a restrained but decisive fare
well, and walked out into the street with a magnificent ora
tion surging within my bosom and only half a crown in my
pocket. The pavements were thronged with people hurrying
to and fro engrossed upon their petty personal interests,
oblivious and indifferent to the larger issues of human
government. I looked with pity not untinged with scorn
upon these trivial-minded passers-by. Evidently it was not
going to be so easy to guide public opinion in the right direc
tion as I had supposed. If these weak products of democracy
held their liberties so lightly, how would they defend the
vast provinces and domains we had gained by centuries of
aristocratic and oligarchic rule? For a moment I despaired
of the Empire. Then I thought of dinner and was pallidly
confronted with the half-a-crown! No, that would not do!
A journey to London on a beautiful half-holiday, keyed up
to the last point of expectation, with a speech that might
have shaped the national destinies undelivered and undi
gested upon my stomach, and then to go back to Sandhurst
upon a bun and a cup of tea! That was more than forti
tude could endure. So I did what I have never done before
or since. I had now reached the Strand. I saw the three
golden balls hanging over Mr. Attenborough's well-known

SANDHURST

shop. I had a very fine gold watch which my father had
given me on my latest birthday. After all, the Crown Jewels
of great kingdoms had been pawned on hard occasions.
'How much do you want/ said the shopman after handling
the watch respectfully. c A fiver will do/ I said. Some particu
lars were filled up in a book. I received one of those tickets
which hitherto I had only heard of in music-halls songs, and
a five-pound note, and sallied forth again into the heart of
London. I got home all right.

The next day my Sandhurst friends all wanted to know
how the meeting had gone off. I had imparted to them
beforehand some of the more cogent arguments I intended
to use. They were curious to learn how they had gone down.
What was the meeting like? They had rather admired me
for having the cheek to go up to make a speech champion
ing their views to an Executive Committee of grown-up
people, politicians, aldermen and the like. They wanted to
know all about it. I did not admit them to my confidence.
Speaking generally I dwelt upon the difficulties of public
agitation in a comfortable and upon the whole contented
country. I pointed out the importance of proceeding step by
step, and of making each step good before the next was
taken. The first step was to form an Executive Committee
— that had been done. The next was to draw up the consti
tution of the League and assign the various responsibilities
and powers — this was proceeding. The third step would be a
broad appeal to the public, and on the response to this every
thing depended. These statements were accepted rather dubi
ously j but what else could I do? Had I only possessed a
newspaper of my own, I would have had my speech re
ported verbatim on its front page, punctuated by the loud
cheers of the Committee, heralded by arresting headlines
and soberly sustained by the weight of successive leading
articles. Then indeed the Entertainments Protection League
might have made real progress. It might, in those early
nineties, when so many things were in the making, have

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marshalled a public opinion so vigilant throughout the Eng
lish-speaking world, and pronounced a warning so impres
sive, that the mighty United States themselves might have
been saved from Prohibition! Here again we see the foot
prints of Fate, but they turned off the pleasant lawns on
to a dry and stony highway.

I was destined to strike another blow in this crusade.
Mrs. Chant's campaign was not unsuccessful, indeed so men
acing did it appear that our party thought it prudent to make
a characteristically British compromise. It was settled that
the offending bars were to be separated from the promenade
by light canvas screens. Thus they would no longer be tech
nically cm' the promenade j they would be just as far re
moved from it in law as if they had been in the adjacent
county^ yet means of egress and ingress of sufficient width
might be lawfully provided, together with any reduction
of the canvas screens necessary for sufficient ventilation.
Thus the temples of Venus and Bacchus, though adjacent,
would be separated, and their attack upon human frailties
could only be delivered in a successive or alternating and
not in a concentrated form. Loud were the hosannas which
arose from the steadfast ranks of the Trades on the Prowl.'
The music-hall proprietors for their part, after uttering
howls of pain and protest, seemed to reconcile themselves
quite readily to their lot. It was otherwise with the Sand
hurst movement. We had not been consulted in this nefari
ous peace. I was myself filled with scorn at its hypocrisy.
I had no idea in those days of the enormous and unques
tionably helpful part that humbug plays in the social life
of great peoples dwelling in a state of democratic freedom.
I wanted a clear-cut definition of the duties of the state and
of the rights of the individual, modified as might be neces
sary by public convenience and decorum.
^ On the first Saturday night after these canvas obstruc
tions had been placed in the Empire Promenade it hap
pened that quite a large number of us chanced to be there.

SANDH URST

There were also a good many boys from the Universities
about our own age, but of course mere bookworms, quite
undisciplined and irresponsible. The new structures were
examined with attention and soon became the subject of un
favourable comment. Then some young gentleman poked
his walking-stick through the canvas. Others imitated his
example. Naturally I could not hang back when colleagues
were testifying after this fashion. Suddenly a most strange
thing happened. The entire crowd numbering some two
or three hundred people became excited and infuriated.
They rushed upon these flimsy barricades and tore them
to pieces. The authorities were powerless. Amid the crack
ing of timber and the tearing of canvas the barricades were
demolished, and the bars were once more united with the
promenade to which they had ministered so long.

In these somewhat unvirginal surroundings I now made
my maiden speech. Mounting on the debris and indeed
partially emerging from it, I addressed the tumultuous
crowd. No very accurate report of my words has been
preserved. They did not, however, fall unheeded, and I
have heard about them several times since. I discarded
the constitutional argument entirely and appealed directly
to sentiment and even passion, finishing up by saying 'You
have seen us tear down these barricades to-night 5 see that
you pull down those who are responsible for them at the
coming election.5 These words were received with raptur
ous applause, and we all sallied out into the Square brand
ishing fragments of wood and canvas as trophies or sym
bols. It reminded me of the death of Julius Csesar when
the conspirators rushed forth into the street waving the
bloody daggers with which they had slain the tyrant. I
thought also of the taking of the Bastille, with the details
of which I was equally familiar.

It seems even more difficult to carry forward a revolution
than to start one. We had to catch the last train back to Sand
hurst or be guilty of dereliction of duty. This train, which

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still starts from Waterloo shortly after midnight, conveys
the daily toll of corpses to the London Necropolis. It ran
only as far as Frimley near Aldershot which it reached at
three o'clock in the morning, leaving us to drive eight or ten
miles to the Royal Military College. On our arrival at this
hamlet no conveyances were to be found. We therefore
knocked up the local inn-keeper. It may well be that we
knocked him up rather boisterously. After a considerable in
terval in which our impatience became more manifest, the
upper half of the door was suddenly opened, and we found
ourselves looking down the muzzle of a blunderbuss, behind
which stood a pale and menacing face. Things are rarely
pushed to extremes in England. We maintained a firm pos
ture, explained our wants and offered money. The landlord,
first reassured and finally placated, produced an old horse
and a still more ancient fly, and in this seven or eight of us
made a successful journey to Camberley, and without trou
bling the porter at the gates, reached our apartments by un
official paths in good time for early morning parade.

This episode made a considerable stir, and even secured
leading articles in most of the newspapers. I was for some
time apprehensive lest undue attention should be focussed
upon my share in the proceedings. Certainly there was grave
risk, for my father's name was still electric. Although natu
rally proud of my part in resisting tyranny as is the duty
of every citizen who wishes to live in a free country, I was
not unaware that a contrary opinion was possible, and might
even become predominant. Elderly people and those in
authority cannot always be relied upon to take enlightened
and comprehending views of what they call the indiscretions
of youth. They sometimes have a nasty trick of singling out
individuals and 'making examples.' Although always pre
pared for martyrdom, I preferred that it should be post
poned. Happily by the time my name began to be connected
with the event, public interest had entirely died down, and
no one at the College or the War Office was so spiteful as

A GENTLEMAN-CADET

SAND HURST

to revive it. This was one of those pieces of good luck which
ought always to be remembered to set against an equal
amount of bad luck when it comes along, as come it must.
It remains only for me to record that the County Council
Elections went the wrong way. The Progressives, as they
called themselves, triumphed. The barricades were rebuilt
in brick and plaster, and all our efforts went for nothing.
Still no one can say we did not do our best.

My course at Sandhurst soon came to an end. Instead
of creeping in at the bottom, almost by charity, I passed
out with honours eighth in my batch of a hundred and
fifty. I mention this because it shows that I could learn
quickly enough the things that mattered. It had been a
hard but happy experience. There were only three terms,
at the end of each of which one advanced almost automatic
ally from junior to intermediate, and then to senior. The
generations were so short that in a year one was a senior.
One could feel oneself growing up almost every week.

In December, 1894, I returned home fully qualified to
receive the Queen's commission. In contrast with my school
days, I had made many friends, three or four of whom
still survive. As for the rest they are gone. The South
African War accounted for a large proportion not only
of my friends but of my company j and the Great War
killed almost all the others. The few that survived have
been pierced through thigh or breast or face by the bullets
of the enemy. I salute them all.

I passed out of Sandhurst into the world. It opened like
Aladdin's Cave. From the beginning of 1895 down to the
present time of writing I have never had time to turn round.
I could count almost on my fingers the days when I have
had nothing to do. An endless moving picture in which one
was an actor. On the whole Great Fun! But the years 1895
to 1900 which are the staple of this story exceed in vividness,

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variety and exertion anything I have known — except of
course the opening months of the Great War.

When I look back upon them I cannot but return my
sincere thanks to the high gods for the gift of existence.
All the days were good and each day better than the other*
Ups and downs, risks and journeys, but always the sense
of motion, and the illusion of hope. Come on now all you
young men, all over the world. You are needed more than
ever now to fill the gap of a generation shorn by the war.
You have not an hour to lose. You must take your places
in Life's fighting line. Twenty to twenty-five! These are
the years! Don't be content with things as they are. *The
earth is yours and the fulness thereof.' Enter upon your
inheritance, accept your responsibilities. Raise the glorious
flags again, advance them upon the new enemies, who con
stantly gather upon the front of the human army, and have
only to be assaulted to be overthrown. Don't take No for
an answer. Never submit to failure. Do not be fobbed off
with mere personal success or acceptance. You will make all
kinds of mistakes ; but as long as you are generous and true,
and also fierce, you cannot hurt the world or even seriously
distress her. She was made to be wooed and won by youth.
She has lived and thrived only by repeated subjugations.

r6o

CHAPTER V
THE FOURTH HUSSARS

MUST now introduce the reader to a man of striking char
acter and presence who at this point began to play an
important part in my life. Colonel Brabazon commanded
the 4th Hussars. This regiment had arrived at Aldershot
from Ireland in the preceding year and was now quartered
in the East Cavalry Barracks. Colonel Brabazon had been
a friend of my family for many years, and I had met him
several times during my school days. I was complimented
by receiving as a Sandhurst cadet an invitation to dine with
him in the regimental Mess. This was a great treat. In
those days the Mess of a cavalry regiment presented an
impressive spectacle to a youthful eye. Twenty or thirty
officers, all magnificently attired in blue and gold, assembled
round a table upon which shone the plate and trophies
gathered by the regiment in two hundred years of sport and
campaigning. It was like a State banquet. In an all-pervading
air of glitter, affluence, ceremony and veiled discipline, an
excellent and lengthy dinner was served to the strains of the
regimental string band. I received the gayest of welcomes,
and having it would seem conducted myself with discretion
and modesty, I was invited again on several occasions. After
some months my mother told me that Colonel Brabazon was
anxious that I should go into his regiment, but that my
father had said cNo.' Indeed it appeared he still believed it
would be possible by using his influence to secure me an in
fantry commission after all. The Duke of Cambridge had
expressed displeasure at my diversion from the 6oth Rifles
and had declared that there were ways in which the diffi
culties might, when the time came, be surmounted. 'Mean
while/ my father had written, 'Brabazon, who I know is one

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of the finest soldiers in the Army, had no business to go and
turn that boy's head about going into the 4th Hussars.7

However, the head was decidedly turned. After my
father's last sad home-coming he could take but little inter
est in my affairs. My mother explained to him how matters
had arranged themselves, and he seemed quite willing, and
even pleased, that I should become a Cavalry Officer. In
deed, one of the last remarks he made to me was, 'Have
you got your horses?'

My father died on January 24 in the early morning.
Summoned from a neighbouring house where I was sleep
ing, I ran in the darkness across Grosvenor Square, then
lapped in snow. His end was quite painless. Indeed he had
long been in stupor. All my dreams of comradeship with
him, of entering Parliament at his side and in his support,
were ended. There remained for me only to pursue his aims
and vindicate his memory.

I was now in the main the master of my fortunes. My
mother was always at hand to help and ad vise j but I was
now in my 2ist year and she never sought to exercise
parental control. Indeed she soon became an ardent ally,
furthering my plans and guarding my interests with all
her influence and boundless energy. She was still at forty
young, beautiful and fascinating. We worked together on
even terms, more like brother and sister than mother and
son. At least so it seemed to me. And so it continued to the
end.

In March 1895 I was gazetted to the 4th Hussars. I
joined the Regiment six weeks earlier in anticipation, and
was immediately set with several other subalterns to the stiff
and arduous training of a Recruit Officer. Every day long
hours were passed in the Riding-School, at Stables or on the

THE FOURTH HUSSARS

Barrack Square. I was fairly well fitted for the riding-
school by the two long courses through which I had already
gone 5 but I must proclaim that the 4th Hussars exceeded in
severity anything I had previously experienced in military
equitation.

In those days the principle was that the newly-joined
Officer was given a recruit's training for the first six months.
He rode and drilled afoot with the troopers and received
exactly the same instruction and training as they did. At
the head of the file in the riding-school, or on the right of
the squad on the Square, he had to try to set an example to
the men. This was a task not always possible to discharge
with conspicuous success. Mounting and dismounting from a
bare-backed horse at the trot or canter 5 jumping a high bar
without stirrups or even saddle, sometimes with hands
clasped behind one's back; jogging at a fast trot with noth
ing but the horse's hide between your knees, brought their
inevitable share of mishaps. Many a time did I pick myself
up shaken and sore from the riding-school tan and don
again my little gold braided pork-pie cap, fastened on the
chin by a boot-lace strap, with what appearance of dignity
I could command, while twenty recruits grinned furtively
but delightedly to see their Officer suffering the same mis
fortunes which it was their lot so frequently to undergo.
I had the ill-luck, at an early stage in these proceedings, to
strain my tailor's muscle on which one's grip upon a horse
depends. In consequence I suffered tortures. Galvanic treat
ment was then unknown; one simply had to go on tearing
at a lacerated muscle with the awful penalty of being
thought a booby, if one begged off even for a day.

The Regimental Riding Master, nicknamed cjocko,' who
specialized in being a terrible tyrant, happened during these
weeks to be in an exceedingly touchy temper. One of the
senior Subalterns had inserted in the Alder shot Times as an

advertisement: 'Major , Professor of Equitation, East

Cavalry Barracks. Hunting taught in 12 lessons and steeple-

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chasing in 18.' This had drawn upon him a flood of ridicule
which perhaps led him to suppose that every smile that
ever flitted across the face of one of his riding-school class
was due to some inward satisfaction at his expense.

However, within measure, I am all for youth being made
willingly to endure austerities j and for the rest it was a gay
and lordly life that now opened upon me. Even before
being released from the riding-school the young officers were
often permitted to ride out with their troops at exercise or on
route marches and even sometimes to ride serre-file1 in
actual drill. There is a thrill and charm of its own in the
glittering jingle of a cavalry squadron manoeuvring at the
trot; and this deepens into joyous excitement when the same
evolutions are performed at a gallop. The stir of the horses,
the clank of their equipment, the thrill of motion, the toss
ing plumes, the sense of incorporation in a living machine,
the suave dignity of the uniform — all combine to make cav
alry drill a fine thing in itself.

I must explain for the benefit of the ignorant reader that
cavalry manoeuvre in column and fight in line, and that
cavalry drill resolves itself into swift and flexible changes
from one formation to the other. Thus by wheeling or
moving in echelon a front can always be presented by a
squadron almost at any moment in any direction. The same
principles apply to the movements of larger bodies of horse
men; and regiments, brigades and even divisions of cavalry
could be made to present a front in an incredibly short time
as the preliminary to that greatest of all cavalry events —
the Charge.

It is a shame that War should have flung all this aside in
its greedy, base, opportunist march, and should turn instead
to chemists in spectacles, and chauffeurs pulling the levers of
aeroplanes or machine guns. But at Aldershot in 1895 none

third rank of a troop which being only partially filled by super
numeraries, interlocks with the front rank of the following troop whenever
the squadron is in column.

IN THE FOURTH HUSSARS

THE FOURTH HUSSARS

of these horrors had broken upon mankind. The Dragoon,
the Lancer and above all, as we believed, the Hussar still
claimed their time-honoured place upon the battlefield. War,
which used to be cruel and magnificent, has now become cruel
and squalid. In fact it has been completely spoilt. It is all
the fault of Democracy and Science. From the moment that
either of these meddlers and muddlers was allowed to take
part in actual fighting, the doom of War was sealed. Instead
of a small number of well-trained professionals champion
ing their country's cause with ancient weapons and a beauti
ful intricacy of archaic manoeuvre, sustained at every mo
ment by the applause of their nation, we now have entire
populations, including even women and children, pitted
against one another in brutish mutual extermination, and
only a set of blear-eyed clerks left to add up the butcher's
bill. From the moment Democracy was admitted to, or
rather forced itself upon the battlefield, War ceased to be a
gentleman's game. To Hell with it! Hence the League of
Nations.

All the same it was a very fine thing in the 'go's to see
General Luck — the Inspector-General — manoeuvre a cav
alry division of thirty or forty squadrons as if it were one
single unit. When this massive and splendid array assumed a
preparatory formation and was then ordered to change front
through an angle of perhaps 15 degrees, the outside brigade
had to gallop two miles in a cloud of dust so thick that you
could not see even five yards before your face, and twenty
falls and half a dozen accidents were the features of a morn
ing's drill. And when the line was finally formed and the
regiment or brigade was committed to the charge, one could
hardly help shouting in joyous wrath.

Afterwards when we were home in barracks, these enthusi
asms in my case were corrected by remembering that the
Germans had twenty cavalry divisions each as imposing as
this our only darling, of which I formed a partj and sec
ondly by wondering what would happen if half a dozen

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spoil-sports got themselves into a hole with a maxim gun
and kept their heads.

Then there were splendid parades 'when Queen Victoria
sat in her carriage at the saluting point and when the whole
Aldershot garrison, perhaps 25,000 strong, blue and gold,
scarlet and steel, passed before her, Horse, Foot and Artil
lery, not forgetting the Engineers and Army Service Corps,
in a broad and scintillating flood. It seemed very wrong that
all these European Powers, — France, Germany, Austria and
Russia — could do this same thing in their countries on the
same day in twenty different places. I wondered why our
Statesmen did not arrange an International Convention
whereby each country should be represented in case of war,
just as they are at the Olympic Games, by equal teams, and
we by a single complete army corps which should embody
all that was best in the race, and so settle the sovereignty of
the world. However, the Victorian Ministers were very un
enterprising j they missed their chance j they simply let War
pass out of the hands of the experts and properly-trained
persons who knew all about it, and reduced it to a mere dis
gusting matter of Men, Money and Machinery.

Those of us who already began to understand the sort of
demoralisation that was going to come over War were irre
sistibly drawn to the conclusion that the British Army would
never again take part in a European conflict. How could we,
when we only had about one army corps with one Cavalry
Division together with the Militia — God help them — and
the Volunteers — Hurrah! ? Certainly no Jingo Lieutenant or
Fire-eating Staff Officer in the Aldershot Command in 1895,
even in his most sanguine moments, would have believed
that our little army would again be sent to Europe. Yet there
was to come a day when a Cavalry Captain — Haig by name
— who drilled with us in the Long Valley this spring was to
feel himself stinted because in a most important battle, he
could marshal no more than forty British Divisions together
with the First American Army Corps — in all a bare six hun-

THE FOURTH HUSSARS

dred thousand men — and could only support them by less
than 400 brigades of Artillery.

I wonder often whether any other generation has seen such
astounding revolutions of data and values as those through
which we have lived. Scarcely anything material or estab
lished which I was brought up to believe was permanent and
vital, has lasted. Everything I was sure or taught to be sure
was impossible, has happened.

Colonel Brabazon was an impoverished Irish landlord
whose whole life had been spent in the British Army. He
personified the heroes of Ouida. From his entry into the
Grenadier Guards in the early 36o?s he had been in the van
of fashion. He was one of the brightest military stars in Lon
don society. A close lifelong friendship had subsisted between
him and the Prince of Wales. At Court, in the Clubs, on the
racecourse, in the hunting field, he was accepted as a most
distinguished figure. Though he had always remained a
bachelor, he was by no means a misogynist. As a young man
he must have been exceptionally good-looking. He was ex
actly the right height for a man to be. He was not actually
six feet, but he looked it. Now, in his prime, his appearance
was magnificent. His clean-cut symmetrical features, his
bright grey eyes and strong jaw, were shown to the best ad
vantage by a moustache which the Kaiser might well have
taken as his unattainable ideal. To all this he added the airs
and manners of the dandies of the generation before his
own, and an inability, real or affected, to pronounce the let
ter CR.J Apt and experienced in conversation, his remarkable
personality was never at a loss in any company, polite or
otherwise.

His military career had been long and varied. He had
had to leave the Grenadier Guards after six years through
straitened finances, and passed through a period of serious

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difficulty. He served as a gentleman volunteer — a great
privilege — in the Ashanti Campaign of 1874. Here he so
distinguished himself that there was a strong movement in
high circles to restore to him his commission. This almost
unprecedented favour was in fact accorded him. The Prince
of Wales was most anxious that he should be appointed to
his own regiment — the 10th Hussars — in those days prob
ably the most exclusive regiment in the Army. However, as
no vacancy was immediately available he was in the interval
posted to an infantry regiment of the Line. To the question,
'What do you belong to now, Brab?' he replied, CI never can
wemember, but they have gween facings and you get at 'em
from Waterloo.*

Of the Stationmaster at Aldershot he inquired on one oc
casion in later years: ' Where is the London twain?' 'It has
gone, Colonel.' 'Gone! Bwing another .*

Translated at length into the 10th Hussars he served
with increasing reputation through the Afghan War in 1878
and 1879 and through the fierce fighting round Suakim
in 1884. As he had gained two successive brevets upon
active service he was in army rank actually senior to the
Colonel of his own regiment. This produced at least one
embarrassing situation conceivable only in the British Army
of those days. The Colonel of the 10th had occasion to find
fault with Brabazon's squadron and went so far in his dis
pleasure as to order it home to barracks. Brabazon was deeply
mortified. However, a few weeks later the loth Hussars
were brigaded for some manoeuvres with another cavalry
regiment. Regimental seniority no longer ruled, and Braba
zon's army rank gave him automatically the command of the
brigade. Face to face with his own commanding officer, now
for the moment his subordinate, Brabazon had repeated the
same remarks and cutting sentences so recently addressed to
him, and finished by the harsh order, 'Take your wegiment
home, Sir!' The fashionable part of the army had been agog
with this episode. That Brabazon had the law on his side

THE FOURTH HUSSARS

could not be gainsaid. In those days men were accustomed
to assert their rights in a rigid manner which would now
be thought unsuitable. There were, however, two opinions
upon the matter.

As it was clear that his regimental seniority would never
enable him to command the loth, the War Office had of
fered him in 1893 ^e command of the 4th Hussars. This
was in itself an inevitable reflection upon the senior officers
of that regiment. No regiment relishes the arrival of a
stranger with the idea of 'smartening them up'} and there
must have been a great deal of tension when this terrific
Colonel, blazing with medals and clasps, and clad in all his
social and military prestige, first assumed command of a
regiment which had even longer traditions than the loth
Hussars. Brabazon made little attempt to conciliate. On the
contrary he displayed a masterful confidence which won not
only unquestioning obedience from all, but intense admira
tion, at any rate from the Captains and subalterns. Some of
the seniors, however, were made to feel their position. cAnd
what chemist do you get this champagne fwom?' he inquired
one evening of an irascible Mess president.

To me, apart from service matters in which he was a strict
disciplinarian, he was always charming. But I soon discov
ered that behind all his talk of war and sport, which together
with questions of religion or irreligion and one or two other
topics formed the staple of Mess conversation, there lay in
the ColonePs mind a very wide reading. When, for instance,
on one occasion I quoted, 'God tempers the winds to the
shorn lamb,' and Brabazon asked, 'Where do you get that
fwom?' I had replied with some complacency that, though
it was attributed often to the Bible, it really occurred in
Sterne's Sentimental Journey. 'Have you ever wead it?' he
asked, in the most innocent manner. Luckily I was not only
naturally truthful, but also on my guard. I admitted that I
had not. It was it seemed one of the ColonePs special fa
vourites.

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The Colonel, however, had his own rebuffs. Shortly be
fore I joined the regiment he came into sharp collision with
no less a personage than Sir Evelyn Wood who then com
manded at Aldershot. Brabazon had not only introduced a
number of minor irregularities, mostly extremely sensible,
into the working uniform of the regiment — as for instance
chrome yellow stripes for drill instead of gold lace — but he
had worn for more than thirty years a small 'Imperial' beard
under his lower lip. This was of course contrary to the Queen's
Regulations Section VII. 'The chin and underlip are to be
shaved (except by pioneers, who will wear beards).' But in
thirty years of war and peace no superior authority had ever
challenged Brabazon's Imperial. He had established it as a
recognized privilege and institution of which no doubt he
was enormously proud. No sooner had he brought his regi
ment into the Aldershot command than Sir Evelyn Wood
was eager to show himself no respecter of persons. Away
went the chrome yellow stripes on the pantaloons, away went
the comfortable serge jumpers in which the regiment was
accustomed to drill $ back came the gold lace stripes and the
tight-fitting cloth stable- jackets of the old regime. Forced
to obey, the Colonel carried his complaints unofficially to the
War Office. There was no doubt he had reason on his side.
In fact within a year these sensible and economical innova
tions were imposed compulsorily upon the whole army. But
no one at the War Office or in London dared override Sir
Evelyn Wood, armed as he was with the text of the Queen's
Regulations. As soon as Sir Evelyn Wood learned that Bra
bazon had criticised his decisions, he resolved upon a bold
stroke. He sent the Colonel a written order to appear upon
his next parade 'shaved in accordance with the regulations.'
This was of course a mortal insult. Brabazon had no choice
but to obey. That very night he made the sacrifice, and the
next morning appeared disfigured before his men, who were
aghast at the spectacle, and shocked at the tale they heard.
The Colonel felt this situation so deeply that he never re-

THE FOURTH HUSSARS

f erred to it on any occasion. Except when obliged by military
duty, he never spoke of Sir Evelyn Wood again:

Such was the man under whom I now had the honour to
serve and whose friendship I enjoyed, warm and unbroken,
through the remaining twenty years of his life. The Colonel
was a die-hard Tory of the strictest and most robust school.
His three main and fundamental tenets were: Protection,
Conscription, and the revival of the Contagious Diseases Acts.
He judged Governments and politicians according as they
conformed or seemed likely to conform to his programme.
But nothing in politics, not even the Free Trade contro
versy, nor the Lloyd George budget, nor the Ulster quarrel,
severed our relations.

We were all delighted in the summer of 1 895 to read that
the Radical Home Rule Government had been beaten in the
House of Commons and that Lord Salisbury was again form
ing an Administration. Everybody liked Lord Rosebery be
cause he 'was thought to be patriotic. But then he had such
bad companions! These bad companions dragged him down,
and he was so weak, so they said, that he had to give way to
them against his true convictions. Then too he was kept in
office by the Irish Nationalists, who everyone knew would
never be satisfied till they had broken up the British Em
pire. I put in a word for John Morley, but they said he was
one of the worst of the lot and mixed up with Fenians and
traitors of every kind. Particular pleasure was expressed that
the Government should have been defeated for having let
down the supply of cordite. Supposing a war came, how
would you fight without cordite? Someone said that really
there was plenty of cordite, but that any stick was good
enough to beat such dogs! Certainly the Liberals were very
unpopular at this time in Aldershot. The General Election
proved that the rest of the country took our view, for Lord
Salisbury was returned with a majority of 150, and the

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Conservatives ruled the country for ten years during which
they fought a number of the wars which form a considerable
part of this account. Indeed they were never turned out
until they went in for Protection, and then the Liberals came
in and made the greatest of wars. But all that is stopped

now.

I was invited to the party at Devonshire House after the
Ministerial banquets. There I found all the new Ministers
looking very smart in their blue and gold uniforms. These
uniforms were not so magnificent as ours, but they had a
style about them which commended them to my eye. I talked
especially with Mr. George. Curzon, the new Under Secretary
of State for Foreign Affairs. He looked very splendid and
prosperous, and received my congratulations with much af
fability. He explained that although his post was a small
one, yet it carried with it the representation in the House of
Commons of the Foreign Office and all that that implied. So
he hoped he would have a share in making the foreign policy
instead of only defending and explaining it. There were also
some of those poor young men who had been left outj but
they had to smile more gaily than anyone else, and go round
congratulating all the people who had got the jobs these
poor ones wanted for themselves. As no one had even con
sidered me for any of these posts, I felt free; to give rein to
jealousy.

At this time Mrs. Everest died. As soon as I heard she
was seriously ill I travelled up to London to see her. She
lived with her sister's family in North London. She knew
she was in danger, but her only anxiety was for me. There
Had been a heavy shower of rain. My jacket was wet. When
she .felt it with her hands she was greatly alarmed for fear
I should catch cold. The jacket had to be taken off and thor
oughly dried before she was calm again. Her only desire was
to see my brother Jack, and this unhappily could not be ar-

THE FOURTH HUSSARS

ranged. I set out for London to get a good specialist, and
the two doctors consulted together upon the case, which was
one of peritonitis. I had to return to Aldershot by the mid
night train for a very early morning parade. As soon as it
was over, I returned to her bedside. She still knew me, but
she gradually became unconscious. Death came very easily
to her. She had lived such an innocent and loving life of
service to others and held such a simple faith, that she had
no fears at all, and did not seem to mind very much. She
had been my dearest and most intimate friend during the
whole of the twenty years I had lived. I now telegraphed
to the clergyman with whom she had served nearly a quarter
of a century before. He lived in Cumberland. He had a long
memory for faithful service. We met at the graveside. He
had become an Archdeacon. He did not bring little Ella with
him.

When I think of the fate of poor old women, so many of
whom have no one to look after them and nothing to live on
at the end of their lives, I am glad to have had a hand in all
that structure of pensions and insurance which no other coun
try can rival and which is especially a help to them.

CHAPTER VI

CUBA

IN the closing decade of the Victorian era the Empire had
enjoyed so long a spell of almost unbroken peace, that
medals and all they represented in experience and adventure
were becoming extremely scarce in the British Army. The
veterans of the Crimea and the Indian Mutiny were gone
from the active list. The Afghan and Egyptian warriors of
the early eighties had reached the senior ranks. Scarcely a
shot had been fired in anger since then, and when I joined
the 4th Hussars in January, 1895, scarcely a captain, hardly
ever a subaltern, could be found throughout Her Majesty's
forces who had seen even the smallest kind of war. Rarity
in a desirable commodity is usually the cause of enhanced
value $ and there has never been a time when war service
was held in so much esteem by the military authorities or
more ardently sought by officers of every rank. It was the
swift road to promotion and advancement in every arm. It
was the glittering gateway to distinction. It cast a glamour
upon the fortunate possessor alike in the eyes of elderly gen
tlemen and young ladies. How we young officers envied the
senior Major for his adventures at Abu Klea! How we ad
mired the Colonel with his long row of decorations! We
listened with almost insatiable interest to the accounts which
they were good enough to give us on more than one occasion
of stirring deeds and episodes already melting into the mist
of time. How we longed to have a similar store of memo
ries to unpack and display, if necessary repeatedly, to a sym
pathetic audience! How we wondered whether our chance
would ever come — whether we too in our turn would have
battles to fight over again and again in the agreeable atmos-

CUBA

phere of the after-dinner mess table? Prowess at polo, in the
hunting-field, or between the flags, might count for something.
But the young soldier who had been <on active service5 and
'under fire' had an aura about him to which the Generals
he served under, the troopers he led, and the girls he
courted, accorded a unanimous, sincere, and spontaneous rec
ognition.

The want of a sufficient supply of active service was there
fore acutely felt by my contemporaries in the circles in which
I was now called upon to live my life. This complaint was
destined to be cured, and all our requirements were to be
met to the fullest extent. The danger — as the subaltern re
garded it — which in those days seemed so real of Liberal
and democratic governments making war impossible was soon
to be proved illusory. The age of Peace had ended. There
was to be no lack of war. There was to be enough for all.
Aye, enough and to spare. Few indeed of the keen, aspiring
generations of Sandhurst cadets and youthful officers who
entered the Royal Service so light-heartedly in these and
later years were to survive the ghastly surfeit which fate had
in store. The little tidbits of fighting which the Indian fron
tier and the Soudan were soon to offer, distributed by luck
or favour, were fiercely scrambled for throughout the Brit
ish Army. But the South African War was to attain dimen
sions which fully satisfied the needs of pur small army. And
after that the deluge was still to come!

The military year was divided into a seven months' sum
mer season of training and a five months' winter season of
leave, and each officer received a solid block of two and a
half months' uninterrupted repose. All my money had been
spent on polo ponies, and as I could not afford to hunt, I
searched the world for some scene of adventure or excite
ment. The general peace in which mankind had for so many
years languished was broken only in one quarter of the
globe. The long-drawn guerrilla between the Spaniards and
the Cuban rebels was said to be entering upon its most seri-

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ous phase. The Captain-General of Spain, the famous Mar
shal Martinez Campos, renowned alike for victories over the
Moors and fronunciamientos to the Spaniards, had been sent
to the recalcitrant island ; and 80,000 Spanish reinforce
ments were being rapidly shipped across the ocean in a su
preme attempt to quell the revolt. Here then was fighting
actually going on. From very early youth I had brooded
about soldiers and war, and often I had imagined in dreams
and day-dreams the sensations attendant upon being for the
first time under fire. It seemed to my youthful mind that it
must be a thrilling and immense experience to hear the
whistle of bullets all around and to play at hazard from
moment to moment with death and wounds. Moreover, now
that I had assumed professional obligations in the matter, I
thought that it might be as well to have a private rehearsal,
a secluded trial trip, in order to make sure that the ordeal
was one not unsuited to my temperament. Accordingly it
was to Cuba that I turned my eyes.

I unfolded the project to a brother subaltern — Reginald
Barnes — who afterwards long commanded Divisions in
France, and found him keen. The Colonel and the Mess
generally looked with favour upon a plan to seek professional
experience at a seat of war. It was considered as good or
almost as good as a season's serious hunting, without which
no subaltern or captain was considered to be living a respec
table life. Thus fortified, I wrote to my father's old friend
and Fourth Party colleague, Sir Henry Wolff, then our
Ambassador at Madrid, asking whether he could procure us
the necessary permissions from the Spanish military authori
ties. The dear old gentleman, whose long-acquired influence
at the Spanish Court was unrivalled in the Diplomatic Corps,
of which he was the doyen, took the greatest trouble on my
behalf. Excellent introductions, formal and personal, soon
arrived in a packet, together with the Ambassador's assur
ance that we had only to reach Havana to be warmly wel
comed by the Captain-General and shown all there was to

CUBA

see. Accordingly at the beginning of November, 1895, we
sailed for New York, and journeyed thence to Havana.

The minds of this generation, exhausted, brutalised, mu
tilated and bored by War, may not understand the delicious
yet tremulous sensations with which a young British Officer
bred in the long peace approached for the first time an actual
theatre of operations. When first in the dim light of early
morning I saw the shores of Cuba rise and define themselves
from dark-blue horizons, I felt as if I sailed with Captain
Silver and first gazed on Treasure Island. Here was a place
where real things were going on. Here was a scene of vital
action. Here was a place where anything might happen.
Here was a place where something would certainly happen.
Here I might leave my bones. These musings were dispersed
by the advance of breakfast, and lost in the hurry of disem
barkation.

Cuba is a lovely island. Well have the Spaniards named
it cThe Pearl of the Antilles.' The temperate yet ardent
climate, the abundant rainfall, the luxurious vegetation, the
unrivalled fertility of the soil, the beautiful scenery — all
combined to make me accuse that absent-minded morning
when our ancestors let so delectable a possession slip through
their fingers. However, our modern Democracy has inher
ited enough — to keep or to cast away.

The City and Harbour of Havana thirty-five years ago
presented a spectacle which, though no doubt surpassed by
its present progress, was in every respect magnificent. We
took up our quarters in a fairly good hotel, ate a great quan
tity of oranges, smoked a number of cigars, and presented
our credentials to Authority. Everything worked perfectly.
Our letters had no sooner been read than we were treated
as an unofficial, but none the less important, mission sent at
a time of stress by a mighty Power and old ally. The more
we endeavoured to reduce the character of our visit, the more
its underlying significance was appraised. The Captain-Gen
eral was on tour inspecting various posts and garrisonsj but

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all would be arranged exactly as we wished. We should find
the Marshal at Santa Clara;1 the journey was quite practica
ble j the trains were armoured; escorts travelled in special
wagons at either end; the sides of the carriages were pro
tected by strong plating 5 when firing broke out as was usual
you had only to lie down on the floor of the carriage to ar
rive safely. We started next morning.

Marshal Martinez Campos received us affably and handed
us over to one of his Staff Officers, a young Lieutenant, son
of the Duke of Tetuan, by name Juan O'Donnell, who spoke
English extremely well. I was surprised at the name, but
was told it had become Spanish since the days of the Irish
Brigade. O'Donnell explained that if we wished to see the
fighting we ought to join a mobile column. Such a column
it appeared had started from Santa Clara only that morning
under General Valdez for Sancti Spiritus, a town about 40
miles away beset by rebels. It was a pity we had missed it.
We suggested that as it would only have made one march
we could easily overtake it. Our young Spaniard shook his
head: 'You would not get 5 miles.' ' Where, then, are the
enemy?' we asked. cThey are everywhere and nowhere,' he
replied. 'Fifty horsemen can go where they please — two
cannot go anywhere.' However, it would be possible to in
tercept General Valdez. We must go by train to Cienfuegos,
and then by sea to Tuna. The railway line from Tuna to
Sancti Spiritus was, he said, strongly guarded by block
houses, and military trains had hitherto passed regularly.
Thus by a journey of 150 miles we should reach Sancti Spir
itus in three days, and General Valdez would not arrive
there with his troops until the evening of the fourth day.
There we could join his column and follow his further op
erations. Horses and orderlies would be provided and the
General would welcome us upon his staff as guests.

We accomplished our journey with some risk, but no
accident. Sancti Spiritus, its name notwithstanding, was a

1See map on page 87.

CUBA

very second-rate place and in the most unhealthy state.
Small-pox and yellow fever were rife. We spent the night in
a filthy, noisy, crowded tavern, and the next evening Gen
eral Valdez and his column marched in. It was a considerable
force: four battalions comprising about 3,000 infantry, two
squadrons of cavalry and a mule battery. The troops looked
fit and sturdy and none the worse for their marches. They
were dressed in cotton uniforms which may originally have
been white, but now with dirt and dust had toned' down to
something very like khaki. They carried heavy packs and
double bandoliers, and wore large straw Panama hats. They
were warmly greeted by their comrades in the town and also,
it seemed, by the inhabitants.

After a respectful interval we presented ourselves at the
GeneraPs headquarters. He had already read the telegrams
which commended us to him, and he welcomed us most cor
dially. Suarez Valdez was a General of Division. He was
making a fortnight's march through the insurgent districts
with the double purpose of visiting the townships and posts
garrisoned by the Spaniards, and also of fighting the rebels
wherever and whenever they could be found. He explained,
through an interpreter, what an honour it was for him to
have two distinguished representatives of a great and
friendly Power attached to his column, and how highly he
valued the moral support which this gesture of Great Britain
implied. We said, back through the interpreter, that it was
awfully kind of him, and that we were sure it would be aw
fully jolly. The interpreter worked this up into something
quite good, and the General looked much pleased. He then
announced that he would march at daybreak. The town was
too full of disease for him to stay for one unnecessary hour.
Our horses would be ready before daylight. In the mean
while he invited us to dinner.

Behold next morning a distinct sensation in the life of a
young officer! It is still dark, but the sky is paling. We are
in what a brilliant though little-known writer has called cThe

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dim mysterious temple of the Dawn.'1 We are on our horses,
in uniform 5 our revolvers are loaded. In the dusk and half-
light, long files of armed and laden men are shuffling off
towards the enemy. He may be very nearj perhaps he is
waiting for us a mile away. We cannot tell 5 we know noth
ing of the qualities either of our friends or foes. We have
nothing to do with their quarrels. Except in personal self-
defence we can take no part in their combats. But we feel it
is a great moment in our lives — in fact, one of the best we
have ever experienced. We think that something is going to
happen 5 we hope devoutly that something will happen} yet
at the same time we do not want to be hurt or killed. What
is it then that we do want? It is that lure of youth — adven
ture, and adventure for adventure's sake. You might call it
tomfoolery. To travel thousands of miles with money one
could ill afford, and get up at four o'clock in the morning
in the hope of getting into a scrape in the company of per
fect strangers, is certainly hardly a rational proceeding. Yet
we knew there were very few subalterns in the British Army
who would not have given a month's pay to sit in our sad
dles.

However, nothing happened. Daylight slowly broadened,
and the long Spanish column insinuated itself like a snake
into the endless forests and undulations of a vast, lustrous
landscape dripping with moisture and sparkling with sun
shine. We marched about 8 miles, and then, it being near
nine o'clock and fairly open country having been reached, a
halt was called for breakfast and the siesta. Breakfast was
an important meal. The infantry lighted fires to cook their
food; the horses were off-saddled and put to graze; and cof
fee and a stew were served at a table to the staff. It was a
picnic. The general's aide-de-camp at length produced a long
metal bottle in which he made a beverage which he described
as 'runcotelle.' It is only in later years that the meaning of
this expression, which I so well remember, has been, revealed

1Macka7> Twenty-one Days in India.

CUBA

to me. It was undoubtedly a cRum Cocktail.' Whatever its
name, it was extremely good. By this time hammocks had
been slung between the trees of a thicket. Into these ham
mocks we were now enjoined to retire. The soldiers and
regimental officers extended themselves upon the ground
after, I trust, taking the necessary military precautions, and
every one slept in the shade for about four hours.

At two o'clock the siesta was over. Bustle arose in the si
lent midday bivouac. At three in the afternoon we were once
more on the way, and marched four hours at a speed of cer
tainly not less than 2% miles an hour. As dusk was falling we
reached our camping ground for the night. The column had
covered 1 8 or 19 miles, and the infantry did not seem in the
least fatigued. These tough Spanish peasants, sons of the
soil, could jog along with heavy loads over mere tracks with
an admirable persistence. The prolonged midday halt was
like a second night's rest to them.

I have no doubt that the Romans planned the time-table
of their days far better than we do. They rose before the sun
at all seasons. Except in war time we never see the dawn.
Sometimes we see sunset. The message of the sunset is sad
ness $ the message of the dawn is hope. The rest and the
spell of sleep in the middle of the day refresh the human
frame far more than a long night. We were not made by
Nature to work, or even to play, from eight o'clock in the
morning till midnight. We throw a strain upon our system
which is unfair and improvident. For every purpose of busi
ness or pleasure, mental or physical, we ought to break our
days and our marches into two. When I was at the Admi
ralty in the War, I found I could add nearly two hours to
my working effort by going to bed for an hour after lunch
eon. The Latins are wiser and closer to Nature in their way
of living than the Anglo-Saxons or Teutons. But they dwell
in superior climates.

Following this routine, we marched for several days,
through wonderful country, without a sign or sound or

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sight of war. Meanwhile we got quite friendly with our
Spanish hosts, and speaking execrable French in common,
though from different angles, we managed to acquire some
understanding of their views. The Chief of the Staff, Lieut.-
Col. Benzo, for instance, on one occasion referred to the war
'which we are fighting to preserve the integrity of our coun
try.' I was struck by this. I had not, no doubt owing to my
restricted education, quite realised that these other nations
had the same sort of feeling about their possessions as we in
England had always been brought up to have about ours.
They felt about Cuba, it seemed, just as we felt about Ire
land. This impressed me much. I thought it rather cheek
that these foreigners should have just the same views and
use the same sort of language about their country and their
colonies as if they were British. However, I accepted the fact
and put it in my mental larder. Hitherto I had (secretly)
sympathised with the rebels, or at least with the rebellion;
but now I began to see how unhappy the Spanish were at the
idea of having their beautiful Tearl of the Antilles' torn
away from them, and I began to feel sorry for them.

We did not see how they could win. Imagine the cost per
hour of a column of nearly 4,000 men wandering round and
round this endless humid jungle; and there were perhaps a
dozen such columns, and many smaller, continuously on the
move. Then there were 200,000 men in all the posts and
garrisons, or in the block-houses on the railway lines. We
knew that Spain was not a rich country as things went then,
We knew by what immense efforts and sacrifices she main-
tamed more than a quarter of a million men across 5,000
miles of saltwater— a dumb-bell held at arm's length. And
what of the enemy? We had seen nothing of them, we had
not heard even one rifle let off; but they evidently existed.
All these elaborate precautions and powerful forces had been
brought into being as the result of repeated disasters. In
these forests and mountains were bands of ragged men not
ill supplied with rifles and ammunition, and armed above all

CUBA

with a formidable chopper-sword called a 'machete/ to
whom war cost nothing except poverty, risk and discomfort
— and no one was likely to run short of these. Here were the
Spaniards out-guerrillaed in their turn. They moved like
Napoleon's convoys in the Peninsula, league after league,
day after day, through a world of impalpable hostility,
slashed here and there by, fierce onslaught.

We slept on the night of November 29 in the fortified
village of Arroyo Blanco. We had sent two battalions and
one squadron with the main part of the convoy to carry pro
visions to a series of garrisons. The rest of our force, num
bering perhaps 1,700 men, were to seek the enemy and a
fight. The 3Oth November was my 2ist birthday, and on
that day for the first time I heard shots fired in anger, and
heard bullets strike flesh or whistle through the air.

There was a low mist as we moved off in the early morn
ing, and all of a sudden the rear of the column was involved
in firing. In those days when people got quite close together
in order to fight, and used — partly, at any rate — large-bore
rifles to fight with, loud bangs were heard and smoke-puffs
or even flashes could be seen. The firing seemed about a fur
long away and sounded very noisy and startling. As however
no bullets seemed to come near me, I was easily reassured.
I felt like the optimist 'who did not mind what happened,
so long as it did not happen to him.' The mist hid every
thing from view. After a while it began to lift, and I found
we were marching through a clearing in the woods, nearly
100 yards wide. This was called a military road, and we
wended along it for several hours. The jungle had already
encroached avidly upon the track, and the officers drew their
machetes and cut down the branches or, in sport, cut in half
the great water-gourds which hung from them and dis
charged a quart of cold crystal liquid upon the unwary.

On this day when we halted for breakfast every man sat
by his horse and ate what he had in his pocket. I had been
provided with half a skinny chicken. I was engaged in gnaw-

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ing the drumstick when suddenly, close at hand, almost in
our faces it seemed, a ragged volley rang out from the edge
of the forest. The horse immediately behind me, — not my
horse — gave a bound. There was excitement and commo
tion. A party of soldiers rushed to the place whence the vol
ley had been fired, and of course found nothing except a few
empty cartridge cases. Meanwhile I had been meditating
upon the wounded horse. It was a chestnut. The bullet had
struck between his ribs, the blood dripped on the ground,
and there was a circle of dark red on his bright chestnut coat
about a foot wide. He hung his head, but did not fall. Evi
dently however he was going to die, for his saddle and bridle
were soon taken off him. As I watched these proceedings I
could not help reflecting that the bullet which had struck
the chestnut had certainly passed within a foot of my head.
So at any rate I had been 'under fire.' That was something.
Nevertheless, I began to take a more thoughtful view of our
enterprise than I had hitherto done.

All the next day we pursued the trail. The woods which
before had borne a distant resemblance to an English covert,
now gave place to forests of bottle-stemmed palm trees of
all possible sizes and most peculiar shapes. Three or four
hours of this sort of country led us again to more open
ground, and after fording the river we halted for the night
near a rude cabin which boasted a name on the map. It was
hot, and my companion and I persuaded two of the younger
staff officers to come with us and bathe in the river which
encircled our bivouac on three sides. The water was delight
ful, being warm and clear, and the spot very beautiful. We
were dressing on the bank when suddenly we heard a shot
fired at no great distance. Another and another followed, and
then came a volley. The bullets whizzed over our heads. It
was evident that an attack of some sort was in progress. We
pulled on our clothes anyhow, and retired along the river as
gracefully as might be and returned to the General's head
quarters. When we arrived, there was a regular skirmish go-

CUBA

ing on half a mile away, and the bullets were falling all
over the camp. The rebels were armed mainly with Reming
tons, and the deep note of their pieces contrasted strangely
with the shrill rattle of the magazine rifles of the Spaniards.
After about half an hour the insurgents had had enough, and
went off carrying away with them the wounded and dead
with which it was hoped they were not unprovided.

We dined undisturbed in the verandah and retired to our
hammocks in the little barn. I was soon awakened by firing.
Not only shots but volleys resounded through the night. A
bullet ripped through the thatch of our hut, another wounded
an orderly just outside. I should have been glad to get out
of my hammock and lie on the ground. However, as no one
else made a move, I thought it more becoming to stay where
I was. I fortified myself by dwelling on the fact that the
Spanish officer whose hammock was slung between me and
the enemy's fire was a man of substantial physique $ indeed
one might almost have called him fat. I have never been
prejudiced against fat men. At any rate I did not grudge
this one his meals. Gradually I dropped asleep.

After a disturbed night, the column started early in the
morning. A mist gave cover to the rebel marksmen, who
saluted us as soon as we got across the river with a well-
directed fire. The enemy, falling back before us, took ad
vantage of every position. Though not very many men were
hit, the bullets traversed the entire length of the column,
making the march very lively for everybody. At eight
o'clock the head of the Spanish column debouched from the
broken ground into open country. A broad grass ride with a
wire fence on one side and a row of little stunted trees on
the other ran from the beginning of the plain to the enemy's
line. On each side of the ride were broad fields of rank grass,
waist-high. Half-way up the ride, which was about a mile
long, and on the right-hand side, was a grove of about a hun
dred palm trees. At the end of the ride and at right angles
to it was a low, long hill, surmounted by a rail fence and

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backed by the dense forests. This was the enemy's position,
which the General resolved immediately to attack.

The tactics were simple. As the leading Spanish battalion
got clear of the broken ground, two companies were thrown
forward on each flank and extended. The cavalry went to
the right of the ride and the artillery proceeded up the centre.
The General, his staff and his two British visitors, advanced
solemnly up the ride about 50 yards in the rear of the firing
line. The second battalion followed the guns in column of
companies. For 300 yards there was no firing. Then from
the distant crest line came a lot of little puffs of smoke, fol
lowed immediately by the report of the insurgent rifles.
Twice this happened, and then the enemy's fire became con
tinuous and spread right and left along his whole position.
The Spanish infantry now began to reply and advanced con
tinually. The firing on both sides became heavy. There were
sounds about us sometimes like a sigh, sometimes like a
whistle, and at others like the buzz of an offended hornet.
The General and his staff rode forward until the smoke-
crested crackling fence was only four or five hundred yards
away. Here we halted, and sitting mounted, without the
slightest cover or concealment, watched the assault of the
infantry. During this period the air was full of whizzings,
and the palm trees smitten by the bullets yielded resounding
smacks and thuds. The Spaniards were on their mettle j and
we had to do our best to keep up appearances. It really
seemed very dangerous indeed, and I was astonished to see
how few people were hit amid all this clatter. In our group
of about twenty, only three or four horses and men were
wounded, and not one killed. Presently, to my relief, the
sound of the Mauser volleys began to predominate, and the
rebel fire to slacken, till it finally ceased altogether. For a
moment I could see figures scurrying to the shelter of the
woods, and then came silence. The infantry advanced and
occupied the enemy's position. Pursuit was impossible owing
to the impenetrable jungle.

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As our column had now only one day's rations left, we
withdrew across the plain to La Jicotea. Spanish honour and
our own curiosity alike being satisfied, the column returned
to the coast, and we to England. We did not think the Span
iards were likely to bring their war in Cuba to a speedy end.

CHAPTER VII
HOUNSLOW

IN the spring of 1896 the 4th Hussars marched to Houns-
low and Hampton Court preparatory to sailing for India
in the autumn. At Hounslow we yielded up our horses to
some home-coming regiment, so that all cavalry training
came to an end. The regiment would remain in the East for
twelve or fourteen years, and officers were given the fullest
leave and facilities for arranging their affairs. Before our
horses departed we had a final parade on Hounslow Heath
at which Colonel Brabazon, whose command was expiring,
took leave of the regiment in a brief soldierly speech marked
by distinction of phrasing.

I now passed a most agreeable six months , in fact they
formed almost the only idle spell I have ever had. I was
able to live at home with my mother and go down to Houns
low Barracks two or three times a week by the Under
ground Railway. We played polo at Hurlingham and Rane-
lagh. The Roehampton grounds had not then come into
existence. I had now five quite good ponies, and was con
sidered to show promise. I gave myself over to the amuse
ments of the London Season. In those days English Society
still existed in its old form. It was a brilliant and powerful
body, with standards of conduct and methods of enforcing
them now altogether forgotten. In a very large degree every
one knew every one else and who they were. The few hun
dred great families who had governed England for so many
generations and had seen her rise to the pinnacle of her
glory, were inter-related to an enormous extent by marriage.
Everywhere one met friends and kinsfolk. The leading
figures of Society were in many cases the leading statesmen
in Parliament, and also the leading sportsmen on the Turf.

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Lord Salisbury was accustomed scrupulously to avoid calling
a Cabinet when there was racing at Newmarket, and the
House of Commons made a practice of adjourning for the
Derby. In those days the glittering parties at Lansdowne
House, Devonshire House or Stafford House comprised all
the elements which made a gay and splendid social circle in
close relation to the business of Parliament, the hierarchies
of the Army and Navy, and the policy of the State. Now
Lansdowne House and Devonshire House have been turned
into hotels, flats and restaurants} and Stafford House has
become the ugliest and stupidest museum in the world, in
whose faded saloons Socialist Governments drearily dispense
the public hospitality.

But none of these shadows had fallen across London in
1896. On the contrary, all minds were turning to the Dia
mond Jubilee in the coming year. I moved from one de
lightful company and scene to another, and passed the week
ends in those beautiful places and palaces which were then
linked by their actual owners with the long triumphant his
tory of the United Kingdom. I am glad to have seen, if only
for a few months, this vanished world. The picture which
remains in my mind's eye is the Duchess of Devonshire's
Fancy Dress Ball in 1897. ^ reproduced the scenes upon
which Disraeli dilated in his novels. Indeed it revived one
o£ his most celebrated descriptions j for outside in the Green
Park large crowds of people had gathered in the summer
night to watch the arriving and departing guests, to listen
to the music, and perhaps to meditate upon the gulf which
in those days separated the rulers and the ruled.

When in 1920 M. Paul Cambon brought to an end his
long, memorable mission to the Court of St. James's, he was
good enough to come to luncheon at my house. The talk
turned upon the giant events through which we had passed
and the distance the world had travelled since the begin
ning of the century. cln the twenty years I have been here,'
said the aged Ambassador, 'I have witnessed an English

H OUNSLOW

Revolution more profound and searching than the French
Revolution itself. The governing class have been almost
entirely deprived of political power and to a very large
extent of their property and estates j and this has been ac
complished almost imperceptibly and without the loss of a
single life.' I suppose this is true.

Lilian, widow of my uncle the 8th Duke of Marlborough,
the daughter of a Commodore in the American navy, and
very wealthy by an earlier marriage, had recently married in
third wedlock Lord William Beresford. He was the young
est of Lord Waterf ord's three brothers, each of whom was a
man of mark. The eldest, 'Charlie,' was the famous admiral.
The second, Marcus, made a great place for himself in so
ciety and on the Turf 5 and the third 'Bill,' the soldier, had
won the Victoria Cross in Zululand. All my life until they
died I kept coming across these men.

Lord William and Lilian, Duchess, had married in riper
years; but their union was happy, prosperous and even fruit
ful. They settled down at the beautiful Deepdene near
Dorking, and bade me visit them continually. I took a strong
liking to Bill Beresford. He seemed to have every quality
which could fascinate a cavalry subaltern. He was a man
of the world acquainted with every aspect of clubland and
society. For long years he had been military secretary both
to Lord Dufferin and Lord Lansdowne, successive Viceroys
of India. He was a grand sportsman who had lived his whole
life in companionship with horses. Polo, pig-sticking, pony-
racing, horse-racing, together with shooting big game of
every kind, had played a constant part in his affairs. As a
young officer of the I2th Lancers he had won a large bet by
walking after dinner from the Blues Mess at Knightsbridge
to the cavalry barracks at Hounslow; there catching a badger
kept by the loth Hussars and carrying it back in a bag on his
shoulders to the expectant Mess at Knightsbridge, in an

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exceedingly short time considering the distance. There was
nothing in sport or in gambling about sport which he had
not tasted. Lastly, he was an officer who had served in three
or four wars, and who had in circumstances of forlorn hope
rescued a comrade from Zulu assegais and bullets. His
opinions about public affairs, though tinged with an official
hue, were deeply practical, and on matters of conduct and
etiquette they were held by many to be decisive.

Thus I paid frequent visits to Deepdene with its comfort
and splendour, and I was never tired of listening to his wis
dom or imparting my own. Always do I remember his dec
laration that there would never be another war between
civilized peoples. 'Often/ he said, 'have I seen countries
come up to the very verge, but something always happens
to hold them back.' There was too much good sense in the
world, he thought, to let such a hideous thing as that break
out among polite nations. I did not accept this as conclusive;
but it weighed with me, and three or four times when
rumours of war filled the air, I rested myself upon it, and
three or four times I saw it proved to be sure and true. It
was the natural reflection of a life lived in the Victorian Age'.
However, there came a time when the world got into far
deeper waters than Lord William Beresford or his con
temporaries had ever plumbed.

It was at Deepdene in 1896 that I first met Sir Bindon
Blood. This general was one of the most trusted and ex
perienced commanders on the Indian frontier. He was my
host's life-long friend. He had come home fresh from his
successful storming of the Malakand Pass in the autumn of
1895. If future trouble broke out on the Indian frontier, he
was sure to have a high command. He thus held the key to
future delights, I made good friends with him. One Sunday
morning on the sunny lawns of Deepdene I extracted from
the general a promise that if ever he commanded another ex
pedition on the Indian frontier, he would let me come with
him.

From a photograph by Elliott and Fry

SIR BINDON BLOOD

H OUNSLOW

I sustained one disturbing experience at Deepdene. 1 was
invited, and it was a great honour for a 2nd lieutenant, to
join a week-end party given to the Prince of Wales. Colonel
Brabazon was also among the guests. I realized that I must
be upon my best behaviour: punctual, subdued, reserved,
in short display all the qualities with which I am least en
dowed. I ought to have caught a six o'clock train to Dorking 5
but I decided to travel by the 7.15 instead. This was running
things very fine, but it was not until my journey was half
completed that I realised that I should be almost certainly
late for dinner. The train was due to arrive at 8.18, and then
there would be ten minutes' drive from the station. So I
proceeded, much to the concern of the gentleman who shared
my carriage, to dress in the train between the stations. The
train was horribly slow and seemed to lose a few minutes at
each stop. Of course it stopped at every station. It was twenty
to nine before I reached Dorking. I nipped out of the car
riage to find a servant on the platform evidently disturbed.
I jumped into the brougham and saw by the speed at which
the two horses were being urged that a serious crisis awaited
me at my destination. However, I thought, CI will slip in and
take my place almost unnoticed at the table, and make my
apologies afterwards.'

When I arrived at Deepdene, I found the entire company
assembled in the drawing-room. The party it seemed without
me would be only thirteen. The prejudice of the Royal Fam
ily of those days against sitting down thirteen is well known.
The Prince had refused point-blank to go in, and would not
allow any rearrangement of two tables to be made. He had,
as was his custom, been punctual to the minute at half-past
eight. It was now twelve minutes to nine. There, in this large
room, stood this select and distinguished company in the
worst of tempers, and there on the other hand was I, a young
boy asked as a special favour and compliment. Of course
I had a perfectly good explanation. Oddly enough, it was one
that I have had to use on more than one occasion since. I had

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not started soon enough! I put it aside. I stammered a few
words of apology, and advanced to make my bow. 'Don't
they teach you to be punctual in your regiment, Winston?'
said the Prince in his most severe tone, and then looked acid
ly at Colonel Brabazon, who glowered. It was an awful
moment! We went into dinner two by two and sat down an
unexceptionable fourteen. After about a quarter of an hour
the Prince, who was a naturally and genuinely kind-hearted
man, put me at my ease again by some gracious chaffing
remark.

I do think unpunctuality is a vile habit, and all my life I
have tried to break myself of it. 'I have never been able,'
said Dr. Welldon to me some years later, 'to understand the
point of view of persons who make a practice of being ten
minutes late for each of a series of appointments throughout
the day.' I entirely agree with this dictum. The only straight
forward course is to cut out one or two of the appointments
altogether and so catch up. But very few men have the
strength of mind to do this. It is better that one notability
should be turned away expostulating . from the doorstep,
than that nine just deputations should each fume for ten
minutes in a stuffy ante-room.

In April there occurred in South Africa an event which
seems to me when I look back over my map of life to be a
fountain of ill. Lord Salisbury had been returned the sum
mer before with a Conservative majority of 150. He looked
forward to a reign limited only by the Septennial Act. He
set before himself as his main task the wiping out of Mr.
Gladstone's disgrace in the Soudan when General Gordon
was murdered, and of his surrender in South Africa after our
defeat at Majuba Hill. He proceeded upon both these
courses with slow, sure steps and with the utmost cautious
ness. He carefully fostered peace in Europe, and kept every
thing as quiet as possible at home. When Russian expansion

H OUNSLOW

in the Far East threatened the interests of Britain and the
life of Japan, he was not above beating a retreat. He allowed
the British China Fleet to be ordered out of Port Arthur by
the Russians. He put up with the mockery which the Liberal
Opposition of those days somewhat incongruously directed
upon his pusillanimity. When the Olney Note about Vene
zuela — virtually an ultimatum — arrived from the United
States, he sent the soft answer which turned away wrath.
He confined his purposes to the British Empire. He kept the
board clear for the Soudan and the Transvaal.

In this latter sphere Mr. Chamberlain was also active. The
great 'Joe,' having kept Lord Salisbury in power from 1886
till 1892, had been the spear-point of the attacks which in
1895 had driven the Liberals from their brief spell of office.
He had at last decided to join Lord Salisbury's new Ad
ministration ; and the Colonial Office, which in Mid-Vic
torian times had been considered a minor appointment, be
came in his hands the main creative instrument of national
policy. Lord Salisbury, moving ponderously forward to
wards the general squaring of accounts with the Khalifa at
Khartoum and with President Kruger at Pretoria, found in
the South African business a reinforcing and indeed over
riding impulse from the Radical-Imperialist of Birmingham.

Apart from these personal and temperamental currents,
the tide of events in South Africa carried everything steadily
forward towards a crisis. The development of deep-level
gold-mining in the Rand had in a few years made Johannes
burg a recognizable factor not only in British, but in world
wide financial and economic affairs. The republic of Boer
farmers, hitherto content to lead a pastoral life in the lonely
regions into which their grandfathers had emigrated, now
found themselves possessed of vast revenues from gold
mines and responsible for a thriving modern city with a very-
large and rapidly growing polyglot population. A strong,
capable and ambitious organism of government grew up at
Pretoria. It became the magnet of Dutch aspirations through-

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out South Africa. It nourished itself by taxing the golden
spoil which was drawn in ever-growing volume to the sur
face of the great Banket Reef. It reached out to Holland and
Germany for European support and relationships. Behind all
lay the unmeasured fighting strength of fifty or sixty thou
sand fierce, narrow, prejudiced, devout Boer farmers, con
stituting the finest mass of rifle-armed horsemen ever seen,
and the most capable mounted warriors since the Mongols.

The new inhabitants of Johannesburg — the Outlanders,
as they were called — in whom British elements predomin
ated, were dissatisfied with the bad and often corrupt ad
ministration of the Boer Government 5 and still more so with
its heavy and increasing taxes. They proclaimed the old
watchword about (No taxation without representation.' They
demanded votes. But since their numbers would have
swamped the Boer regime, and replaced the Transvaal sov
ereignty in those British hands from which it had been
wrested in 1881, their rightful demand could by no means
be conceded.

Mr. Chamberlain, with Lord Salisbury following steadily
on behind, championed the Cause of the Outlanders. On
paper and for democratic purposes the case was overwhelm
ing. But you can never persuade anyone by reasonable
argument to give up his skin. The old inhabitants of the
* Transvaal were not going to yield their autonomy or any
effective portion of it to the newcomers, however numerous
, or influential they might become. They intended by taxing
them to procure the necessary means for keeping them in
subjection. If the quarrel should come to actual fighting,
President Kruger and * his colleagues saw no reason why
Europe should not intervene on their behalf or why they
should not become masters of the whole of South Africa.
They too had a good case. Had they not trekked into the
wilderness to avoid British rule, with its perpetual inter
ference between them and their native subjects and servants?
If England could use the language of cthe Boston tea-party/

H O UNSLO W

the Boers felt like the Southern planters on the eve of the
War of Secession. They declared that the long arm of British
Imperialism, clutching for gold, had pursued them even into
their last refuges; and Mr. Chamberlain rejoined, in effect,
that they were refusing to give civil rights to the modern
productive elements who were making nine-tenths of the
wealth of their country, because they were afraid they would
no longer be allowed to larrup their own Kaffirs. Evil
collision!

Mr. Cecil Rhodes was Chairman and creator of the Char
tered Company. He was also with a considerable measure of
Dutch support, Prime Minister of the Cape Colony. Dr.
Jameson was an administrator of the Company serving under
him. Jameson — a man of strong and impulsive personality
— had gathered a force of 600 or 700 men at Mafeking so
that if the Outlanders rose in rebellion to gain their civil and
political liberties, as they frequently threatened to do, he
could if necessary, if Mr. Rhodes were favourable and if
the British Government approved, march rapidly across the
150 miles from Mafeking to Johannesburg and prevent
needless bloodshed. Side by side with this there was an actual
conspiracy in Johannesburg to demand by force the rights of
citizenship for the Outlanders. No money was lacking, for
the conspirators included the leading proprietors of the gold
mines. In the main they were supported — though rather
luke-warmly — by most of their employees and by the non-
Dutch population of Johannesburg, which already in num
bers exceeded the whole of the rest of the Transvaal. On an
April morning a provisional government was formed in
Johannesburg and Dr. Jameson with 700 horsemen and two
guns started out across the veldt toward the city.

This event shook Europe and excited the whole world.
The Kaiser sent his famous telegram to President Kruger
and ordered German marines — who happened to be on the
spot — to disembark at Delagoa Bay. Great Britain was cen
sured in unmeasured terms in every country. The Boer com-

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mandos, who had long been held in readiness, easily sur
rounded Dr. Jameson and his force, and after a sharp fight
forced them to surrender. At the same time other large
Transvaal forces quelled the rebellion in Johannesburg and
arrested all the leaders and millionaires concerned in it.
When the first news of Dr. Jameson's Raid reached Eng
land, his action was immediately disavowed by the British
Government. Cecil Rhodes at Cape Town laconically re
marked, cHe has upset my applecart.3 Lord Salisbury in
voked all the resources of his patient and powerful diplomacy
to allay resentment. The Johannesburg ring-leaders having
been sentenced to death, were allowed to ransom themselves
for enormous sums. The Jameson raiders were delivered up
by the Boers to British justice, and their Chief and his lieu
tenants were tried and sentenced to two years' imprisonment.
A strict enquiry was made under the guidance of the Lib
eral Party to ascertain what degree of complicity (if any)
attached to Mr. Chamberlain, or to Mr. Rhodes. This en
quiry took a long time, and in the end arrived at no definite
conclusion 5 and the affair gradually died down. It left be
hind it, however, a long succession of darkening conse
quences. British reputation throughout the world had re
ceived a grievous wound. The Dutch hurled Cecil Rhodes
from power in the Cape Colony. The British nation took the
German Emperor's telegram as a revelation of a hostile
mood, and they never forgot it. The Emperor for his part,
seeing himself completely powerless in the face of British
sea power, turned his mind to the construction of a German
fleet. The entire course of South African politics was turned
away from peaceful channels. The British colonists looked
to the Imperial Government for aidj and the Dutch race
throughout the sub-continent rallied around the standards of
the two Boer republics. The British Government gathered
themselves together after their disastrous set-back, while the
Transvaal taxed the Outlanders all the more and began to
arm heavily out of the proceeds. All the causes of the quarrel

HOUNSLOW

were inflamed, and their trial was referred to a far more im
portant court.

During this vivid summer my mother gathered constantly
around her table politicians of both parties, and leading
figures in literature and art, together with the most loVely
beings on whom the eye could beam. On one occasion, how
ever, she carried her catholicity too far* Sir John Willough-
by, one of the Jameson raiders then on bail awaiting trial
in London, was one of our oldest friends. In fact it was he
who had first shown me how to arrange my toy cavalry
soldiers in the proper formation of an advanced guard. Re
turning from Hounslow, I found him already arrived for
luncheon. My mother was late. Suddenly the door opened
and Mr. John Morley was announced. I scented trouble 5 but
boldly presented them to each other. Indeed no other course
was possible. John Morley drew himself up, and without
extending his hand made a stiff little bow. Willoughby stared
unconcernedly without acknowledging it. I squirmed in
wardly, and endeavoured to make a pretence of conversation
by asking commonplace questions of each alternately. Pres
ently to my great relief my mother arrived. She was not
unequal to the occasion, which was a serious one. Before the
meal was far advanced no uninformed person would have
noticed that two out of the four gathered round the table
never addressed one another directly. Towards the end it
seemed to me they would not have minded doing so at all.
But having taken up their positions they had to stick to them.
I suspected my mother of a design to mitigate the unusual
asperities which gathered round this aspect of our affairs.
She wanted to reduce the Raid to the level of ordinary poli
tics. But blood had been shedj and that makes a different
tale.

I need scarcely say that at 21 I was all for Dr. Jameson
and his men. I understood fairly well the causes of the dis
pute on both sides. I longed for the day on which we should
'avenge Majuba.' I was shocked to see our Conservative

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A ROVING COMMISSION

Government act so timidly in the crisis. I was ashamed to
see them truckling to a misguided Liberal Opposition and
even punishing these brave raiders, many of whom I knew
so well. I was to learn more about South Africa in later
years.

100

CHAPTER VIII

INDIA

THE time was now come for us to embark for the East.
We sailed from Southampton in a trooper carrying
about 1,200 men, and after a voyage of twenty-three days
cast anchor in Bombay Harbour and pulled up the curtain on
what might well have been a different planet.

It may be imagined how our whole shipful of officers
and men were delighted after being cooped up for nearly a
month to see the palms and palaces of Bombay lying about
us in a wide crescent. We gazed at them over the bulwarks
across the shining and surf -ribbed waters. Every one wanted
to go on shore at once and see what India was like. The de
lays and formalities of disembarkation which oppress the or
dinary traveller are multiplied for those who travel at the
royal expense. However, at about three o'clock in the after
noon orders were issued that we were to land at eight o'clock
when it would be cool 5 and in the meantime a proportion of
officers might go ashore independently. A shoal of tiny boats
had been lying around us all day long, rising and falling with
the swell. We eagerly summoned some of these. It took
about a quarter of an hour to reach the quays of the Sassoon
Dock. Glad I was to be there j for the lively motion of the
skiff to which I and two friends had committed ourselves
was fast becoming our main preoccupation. We came along
side of a great stone wall with dripping steps and iron rings
for hand-holds. The boat rose and fell four or five feet with
the surges. I put out my hand and grasped at a ring; but be
fore I could get my feet on the steps the boat swung away,
giving my right shoulder a sharp and peculiar wrench. I
scrambled up all right, made a few remarks of a general
character, mostly beginning with the earlier letters of the

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alphabet, hugged my shoulder and soon thought no more
about it.

Let me counsel my younger readers to beware of dislo
cated shoulders. In this, as in so many other things, it is the
first step that counts. Quite an exceptional strain is required
to tear the capsule which holds the shoulder joint together $
but once the deed is done, a terrible liability remains. Al
though my shoulder did not actually go out, I had sustained
an injury which was to last me my life 5 which was to cripple
me at polo, to prevent me from ever playing tennis, and to
be a grave embarrassment in moments of peril, violence
and effort. Since then, at irregular intervals my shoulder has
dislocated on the most unexpected pretexts: sleeping with
my arm under the pillow, taking a book from the library
shelves, slipping on a staircase, swimming, etc. Once it very
nearly went out through a too expansive gesture in the
House of Commons, and I thought how astonished the
members would have been to see the speaker to whom they
were listening, suddenly for no reason throw himself upon
the floor in an instinctive effort to take the strain and lever
age off the displaced arm bone.

This accident was a serious piece of bad luck. However,
you never can tell whether bad luck may not after all turn
out to be good luck. Perhaps if in the charge of Omdurman
I had been able to use a sword, instead of having to adopt
a modern weapon like a Mauser pistol, my story might not
have got so far as the telling. One must never forget when
misfortunes come that it is quite possible they are saving
one from something much worse 5 or that when you make
some great mistake, it may very easily serve you better than
the best-advised decision. Life is a whole, and luck is a
whole, and no part of them can be separated from the rest.

Let us resume our journey into what Colonel Brabazon in
his farewell speech had called 'India, that famous appanage
of the Bwitish Cwown.' We were sent into a rest camp at
Poona, and arriving late in the evening passed our second

102

I NDIA

night after landing in large double-fly tents upon a spacious
plain. Daylight brought suave, ceremonious, turbanned ap
plicants for the offices of butler, dressing boy, and head
groom, which in those days formed the foundation of the
cavalry subaltern's household. All bore trustworthy testi
monials with them from the home-going regiment $ and
after brief formalities and salaams laid hold of one's worldly
possessions and assumed absolute responsibility for one's
whole domestic life. If you liked to be waited on and re
lieved of home worries, India thirty years ago was perfec
tion. All you had to do was to hand over all your uniform
and clothes to the dressing boy, your ponies to the syce, and
your money to the butler, and you need never trouble any
more. Your Cabinet was complete 5 each of these ministers
entered upon his department with knowledge, experience and
fidelity. They would devote their lives to their task. For a
humble wage, justice, and a few kind words, there was noth
ing they would not do. Their world became bounded by the
commonplace articles of your wardrobe and other small
possessions. No toil was too hard, no hours were too long,
no dangers too great for their unruffled calm or their unfail
ing care. Princes could live no better than we.

Among the group of suitors at our tent appeared two or
three syces leading polo ponies and bearing notes from their
masters} and then arrived with some commotion a splendid
man in a red and gold frock-coat bearing an envelope with a
puissant crest. He was a messenger from the Governor,
Lord Sandhurst, inviting me and my companion, Hugo
Baring, to dine that night at Government House. Thither,
after a long day occupied mainly in scolding the troopers for
forgetting to wear their pith-helmets and thus risking their
lives, we repaired, and enjoyed a banquet of glitter, pomp
and iced champagne. His Excellency, after the health of the
Queen-Empress had been drunk and dinner was over, was
good enough to ask my opinion upon several matters, and
considering the magnificent character of his hospitality, I

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thought it would be unbecoming in me not to reply fully.
I have forgotten the particular points of British and Indian
affairs upon which he sought my counsel 5 all I can remem
ber is that I responded generously. There were indeed mo
ments when he seemed willing to impart his own views j but
I thought it would be ungracious to put him to so much
trouble j and he very readily subsided. He kindly sent his
aide-de-camp with us to make sure we found our way back
to camp all right. On the whole, after forty-eight hours of
intensive study, I formed a highly favourable opinion about
India. Sometimes, thought I, one sees these things more
completely at first sight. As Kinglake says, ca scrutiny so
minute as to bring an object under an untrue angle of vision,
is a poorer guide to a man's judgment than a sweeping
glance which sees things in their true proportion.' We cer
tainly felt as we dropped off to sleep the keenest realization
of the great work which England was doing in India and of
her high mission to rule these primitive but agreeable races
for their welfare and our own. But almost immediately, it
seemed, the trumpets sounded reveille and we had to catch
the 5.10 train for our thirty-six-hour journey to Bangalore.
The great triangular plateau of Southern India comprises
the domains of the Nizam and the Maharajah of Mysore.
The tranquility of these regions, together about the size of
France, is assured in the ultimate resort by two British gar
risons of two or three thousand troops apiece at Bangalore
and Secunderabad. In each case there is added about double
the number of Indian troops 5 so that sufficient forces of all
arms are permanently available for every purpose of train
ing and manoeuvre. The British lines or cantonments1 are in
accordance with invariable practice placed five or six miles
from the populous cities which they guard j and in the inter
vening space lie the lines of the Indian regiments. The Brit
ish troops are housed in large, cool, colonnaded barracks.
Here forethought and order have been denied neither time

Pronounced ccantoonments.'

IO4

INDIA

nor space in the laying out of their plans. Splendid roads,
endless double avenues of shady trees, abundant supplies of
pure water j imposing offices, hospitals and institutions}
ample parade-grounds and riding schools — characterize these
centres of the collective life of considerable white communi
ties.

The climate of Bangalore, at more than 3,000 feet above
sea level, is excellent. Although the sun strikes with torrid
power, the nights except in the hottest months are cool and
fresh. The roses of Europe in innumerable large pots at
tain the highest perfection of fragrance and colour. Flowers,
flowering shrubs and creepers blossom in glorious profusion.
Snipe (and snakes) abound in the marshes, brilliant butter
flies dance in the sunshine, and nautch-girls by the light of
the moon.

No quarters are provided for the officers. They draw in
stead a lodging allowance which together with their pay and
other incidentals fills each month with silver rupees a string
net bag as big as a prize turnip. All around the cavalry mess
lies a suburb of roomy one-storeyed bungalows standing in
their own walled grounds and gardens. The subaltern re
ceives his bag of silver at the end of each month of duty,
canters home with it to his bungalow, throws it to his beam
ing butler, and then in theory has no further material cares.
It was however better in a cavalry regiment in those days to
supplement the generous rewards of the Queen-Empress by
an allowance from home three or four times as great. Alto
gether we received for our services about fourteen shillings
a day with about £3 a month on which to keep two horses.
This, together with £500 a year paid quarterly, was my sole
means of support: all the rest had to be borrowed at usurious
rates of interest from the all-too-accommodating native
bankers. Every officer was warned against these gentlemen.
I always found them most agreeable 5 very, fat, very urbane,
quite honest and mercilessly rapacious. All you had to do
was to sign little bits of paper, and produce a polo pony as if

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by magic. The smiling financier rose to his feet, covered his
face with his hands, replaced his slippers, and trotted off con
tentedly till that day three months. They only charged two
$er cent, a month and made quite a good living out of it,
considering they hardly ever had a bad debt.

We three, Reginald Barnes, Hugo Baring and I, pooling
all our resources, took a palatial bungalow, all pink and
white, with heavy tiled roof and deep verandahs sustained
by white plaster columns, wreathed in purple bougainvillea.
It stood in a compound or grounds of perhaps two acres. We
took over from the late occupant about a hundred and fifty
splendid standard roses: Marechal Niel, La France, Gloire
de Dijon, etc. We built a large tiled barn with mud walls,
containing stabling for thirty horses and ponies. Our three
butlers formed a triumvirate in which no internal dissensions
ever appeared. We paid an equal contribution into the pot;
and thus freed from mundane cares, devoted ourselves to the
serious purpose of life.

This was expressed in one word — Polo. It was upon this,
apart from duty, that all our interest was concentrated. But
before you could play polo, you must have ponies. We had
formed on the voyage a regimental polo club, which in re
turn for moderate but regular subscriptions from all the
officers (polo-players and non-polo-players alike) offered
substantial credit facilities for the procuring of these indis
pensable allies. A regiment coming from home was never
expected to count in the Indian polo world for a couple of
years. It took that time to get a proper stud of ponies to
gether. However, the president of our polo club and the
Senior Officers, after prolonged and anxious discussions,
determined upon a bold and novel stroke. The Bycullah
stables at Bombay form the main emporium through which
Arab houses and ponies are imported to India. The Poona
Light Horse, a native regiment strongly officered by British,
had in virtue of its permanent station an obvious advantage
in the purchase of Arabian ponies. On our way through

1 06

INDIA

Poona we had tried their ponies, and had entered into deep
ly important negotiations with them. Finally it was decided
that the regimental polo club should purchase the entire
polo stud of twenty-five ponies possessed by the Poona Light
Horse 5 so that these ponies should form the nucleus around
which we could gather the means of future victory in the
Inter-Regimental Tournament. I can hardly describe the
sustained intensity of purpose with which we threw our
selves into this audacious and colossal undertaking. Never in
the history of Indian polo had a cavalry regiment from
Southern India won the Inter-Regimental cup. We knew
it would take two or three years of sacrifice, contrivance and
effort. But if all other diversions were put aside, we did not
believe that success was beyond our compass. To this task
then we settled down with complete absorption.

I must not forget to say that there were of course also a
great many military duties. Just before dawn, every morn
ing, one was awakened by a dusky figure with a clammy hand
adroitly lifting one's chin and applying a gleaming razor to
a lathered and defenceless throat. By six o'clock the regiment
was on parade, and we rode to a wide plain and there drilled
and manoeuvred for an hour and a half. We then returned to
baths at the bungalow and breakfast in the mess. Then at
nine stables and orderly room till about half-past ten; then
home to the bungalow before the sun attained its fiercest ray.
All the distances in the spread-out cantonment were so great
that walking was impossible. We cantered on hacks from one
place to another. But the noonday sun asserted his tyrannical
authority, and long before eleven o'clock all white men were
in shelter. We nipped across to luncheon at half-past one in
blistering heat and then returned to sleep till five o'clock.
Now the station begins to live again. It is the hour of Polo.
It is the hour for which we have been living all day long.
I was accustomed in those days to play every chukka I
could get into. The whole system was elaborately organized
for the garrison during the morning 3 and a smart little peon

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collected the names of all the officers together with the
number of chukkas they wished to play. These were aver
aged out so as to secure 'the greatest good of the greatest
number.' I very rarely played less than eight and more
often ten or twelve.

As the shadows lengthened over the polo ground, we
ambled back perspiring and exhausted to hot baths, rest,
and at 8.30 dinner, to the strains of the regimental band and
the clinking of ice in well-filled glasses. Thereafter those
who were not so unlucky as to be caught by the Senior
Officers to play a tiresome game then in vogue called 'Whist,'
sat smoking in the moonlight, till half-past ten or eleven
at the latest signalled the 'And so to bed.' Such was 'the long,
long Indian day' as I knew it for three years } and not such
a bad day either.

108

CHAPTER IX
EDUCATION AT BANGALORE

IT was not until this winter of 1896, when I had almost
completed my twenty-second year, that the desire for
learning came upon me. I began to feel myself wanting in
even the vaguest knowledge about many large spheres of
thought. I had picked up a wide vocabulary and had a liking
for words and for the feel of words fitting and falling into
their places like pennies in the slot. I caught myself using a
good many words the meaning of which I could not define
precisely. I admired these words, but was afraid to use them
for fear of being absurd. One day, before I left England, a
friend of mine had said: 'Christ's gospel was the last word in
Ethics.' This sounded good; but what were Ethics? They
had never been mentioned to me at Harrow or Sandhurst*
Judging from the context I thought they must mean 'the
public school spirit,' 'playing the game,' 'esprit de corps,*
'honourable behaviour,' 'patriotism,' and the like. Then
someone told me that Ethics were concerned not merely with
the things you ought to do, but with why you ought to do
them, and that there were whole books written on the sub
ject. I would have paid some scholar £2 at least to give me a
lecture of an hour or an hour and a half about Ethics. What
was the scope of the subject; what were its main branches;
what were the principal questions dealt with, and the chief
controversies open; who were the high authorities and which
were the standard books? But here in Bangalore there was
no one to tell me about Ethics for love or money. Of tactics
I had a grip: on politics I had a view: but a concise compen
dious outline of Ethics was a novelty not to be locally
obtained.

This was only typical of a dozen similar mental needs that

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now began to press insistently upon me. I knew of course that
the youths at the universities were stuffed with all this patter
at nineteen and twenty, and could pose you entrapping ques
tions or give baffling answers. We never set much store by
them or their affected superiority, remembering that they
were only at their books, while we were commanding men
and guarding the Empire. Nevertheless I had sometimes
resented the apt and copious information which some of
them seemed to possess, and I now wished I could find a com
petent teacher whom I could listen to and cross-examine for
an hour or so every day.

Then someone had used the phrase 'the Socratic method.'
What was that? It was apparently a way of giving your
friend his head in an argument and progging him into a pit
by cunning questions. Who was Socrates, anyhow? A very
argumentative Greek who had a nagging wife and was final
ly compelled to commit suicide because he was a nuisance!
Still, he was beyond doubt a considerable person. He counted
for a lot in the minds of learned people. I wanted 'the So
crates story.' Why had his fame lasted through all the ages?
What were the stresses which had led a government to
put him to death merely because of the things he said? Dire
stresses they must have been: the life of the Athenian Execu
tive or the life of this talkative professor! Such antagonisms
do not spring from petty issues. Evidently Socrates had
called something into being long ago which was very ex
plosive. Intellectual dynamite! A moral bomb! But there
was nothing about in The Queen's Regulations.

Then there was history. I had always liked history at
school. But there we were given only the dullest, driest
pemmicanised forms like The Student's Hume. Once I had a
hundred pages of The Student's Hume as a holiday task.
Quite unexpectedly, before I went back to school, my father
set out to examine me upon it. The period was Charles I. He
asked me about the Grand Remonstrance j what did I know
about that? I said that in the end the Parliament beat the

EDUCATION AT BANGALORE

King and cut his head off. This seemed to me the grandest
remonstrance imaginable. It was no good. 'Here,' said my
father, 'is a grave parliamentary question affecting the whole
structure of our constitutional history, lying near the centre
of the task you have been set, and you do not in the slightest
degree appreciate the issues involved.' I was puzzled by his
concern; I could not see at the time why it should matter
so much. Now I wanted to know more about it.

So I resolved to read history, philosophy, economics, and
things like that; and I wrote to my mother asking for such
books as I had heard of on these topics. She responded with
alacrity, and every month the mail brought me a substantial
package of what I thought were standard works. In history
I decided to begin with Gibbon. Someone had told me that
my father had read Gibbon with delight; that he knew whole
pages of it by heart, and that it had greatly affected his style
of speech and writing. So without more ado I set out upon
the eight volumes of Dean Milman's edition of Gibbon's
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empre. I was immediately
dominated both by the story and the style. All through the
long glistening middle hours of the Indian day, from when
we quitted stables till the evening shadows proclaimed the
hour of Polo, I devoured Gibbon. I rode triumphantly
through it from end to end and enjoyed it all. I scribbled all
my opinions on the margins of the pages, and very soon
found myself a vehement partisan of the author against the
disparagements of his pompous-pious editor. I was not even
estranged by his naughty footnotes. On the other hand the
Dean's apologies and disclaimers roused my ire. So pleased
was I with The Decline and Fall that I began at once to
read Gibbon's Autobiography, which luckily was bound up
in the same edition. When I read his reference to his old
nurse: 'If there be any, as I trust there are some, who re
joice that I live, to that dear and excellent woman their
gratitude is due,' I thought of Mrs. Everest; and it shall be
her epitaph.

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From Gibbon I went to Macaulay. I had learnt The
Lays of Ancient Rome by heart and loved them 5 and of
course I knew he had written a history ; but I had never read
a page of it. I now embarked on that splendid romance, and
I voyaged with full sail in a strong wind. I remembered then
that Mrs. Everest's brother-in-law, the old prison warden,
had possessed a copy of Macaulay's History, purchased in
supplements and bound together, and that he used to speak
of it with reverence. I accepted all Macaulay wrote as gospel,
and I was grieved to read his harsh judgments upon the
Great Duke of Marlborough. There was no one at hand to
tell me that this historian with his captivating style and de
vastating self-confidence was the prince of literary rogues,
who always preferred the tale to the truth, and smirched or
glorified great men and garbled documents according as they
affected his drama. I cannot forgive him for imposing on my
confidence and on the simple faith of my old friend the
warder. Still I must admit an immense debt upon the other
side.

Not less than in his History, I revelled in his Essays:
Chatham; Frederick the Great; Lord Nugent's Memorials
of Hampden; Clive; Warren Hastings; Barere (the dirty
dog); Southey's Colloquies on Society; and above all that
masterpiece of literary ferocity, Mr. Robert Montgomery's
Poems.

From November to May I read for four or five hours
every day history and philosophy. Plato's Republic — it ap
peared he was for all practical purposes the same as Soc
rates; the Politics of Aristotle, edited by Dr. Welldon him
self; Schopenhauer on Pessimism; Malthus on Population;
Darwin's Origin of Species: all interspersed with other
books of lesser standing. It was a curious education. First be
cause I approached it with an empty, hungry mind, and with
fairly strong jaws; and what I got I bit; secondly because I
had no one to tell me: 'This is discredited.' 'You should read
the answer to that by so and so; the two together will give

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EDUCATION AT BANGALORE

you the gist of the argument.' 'There is a much better book
on that subject/ and so forth. I now began for the first time
to envy those young cubs at the university who had fine
scholars to tell them what was what 5 professors who had de
voted their lives to mastering and focussing ideas in every
branch of learning 5 who were eager to distribute the trea
sures they had gathered before they were overtaken by the
night. But now I pity undergraduates, when I see what frivo
lous lives many of them lead in the midst of precious fleeting
opportunity. After all, a man's Life must be nailed to a cross
either of Thought or Action. Without work there is no play.
When I am in the Socratic mood and planning my Re
public, I make drastic changes in the education of the sons of
well-to-do citizens. When they are sixteen or seventeen they
begin to learn a craft and to do healthy manual labour, with
plenty of poetry, songs, dancing, drill and gymnastics in
their spare time. They can thus let off their steam on some
thing useful. It is only when they are really thirsty for
knowledge, longing to hear about things, that I would let
them go to the university. It would be a favour, a coveted
privilege, only to be given to those who had either proved
their worth in factory or field or whose qualities and zeal
were pre-eminent. However, this would upset a lot of things $
it would cause commotion and bring me perhaps in the end
a hemlock draught.

My various readings during the next two years led me to
ask myself questions about religion. Hitherto I had dutifully
accepted everything I had been told. Even in the holidays I
always had to go once a week to Church, and at Harrow
there were three services every Sunday, besides morning and
evening prayers throughout the week. All this was very
good. I accumulated in those years so fine a surplus in the
Bank of Observance that I have been drawing confidently
upon it ever since. Weddings, christenings, and funerals have

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brought in a steady annual income, and I have never made
too close enquiries about the state of my account. It might
well even be that I should find an overdraft. But now in
these bright days of youth my attendances were well ahead
of the Sundays. In the Army too there were regular church
parades, and sometimes I marched the Roman Catholics to
church, and sometimes the Protestants. Religious toleration
in the British Army had spread till it overlapped the regions
of indifference. No one was ever hampered or prejudiced on
account of his religion. Everyone had the regulation facilities
for its observance. In India the deities of a hundred creeds
were placed by respectful routine in the Imperial Pantheon.
In the regiment we sometimes used to argue questions like
cWhether we should live again in another world after this
was over?' c Whether we have ever lived before?' ' Whether
we remember and meet each other after Death or merely
start again like the Buddhists?3 c Whether some high intelli
gence is looking after the world or whether things are just
drifting on anyhow?' There was general agreement that if
you tried your best to live an honourable life and did your
duty and were faithful to friends and not unkind to the weak
and poor, it did not matter much what you believed or dis
believed. All would come out right. This is what would no\fr-
adays I suppose be called 'The Religion of Healthy-Mind-
edness.'

Some of the senior officers also dwelt upon the value of
the Christian religion to women ('It helps to keep them
straight') 5 and also generally to the lower orders ('Nothing
can give them a good time here, but it makes them more con
tented to think they will get one hereafter'). Christianity, it
appeared, had also a disciplinary value, especially when pre
sented through the Church of England. It made people want
to be respectable, to keep up appearances, and so saved lots
of scandals. From this standpoint ceremonies and ritual
ceased to be of importance. They were merely the same idea
translated into different languages to suit diff erent races and

EDUCATION AT BANGALORE

temperaments. Too much religion of any kind, however, was
a bad thing. Among natives especially, fanaticism was highly
dangerous and roused them to murder, mutiny or rebellion.
Such is, I think, a fair gauging of the climate of opinion in
which I dwelt.

I now began to read a number of books which challenged
the whole religious education I had received at Harrow. The
first of these books was The Martyrdom of Man by Win-
wood Reade. This was Colonel Brabazon's great book. He
had read it many times over and regarded it as a sort of
Bible. It is in fact a concise and well-written universal his
tory of mankind, dealing in harsh terms with the mysteries
of all religions and leading to the depressing conclusion that
we simply go out like candles. I was much startled and in
deed offended by what I read. But then I found that Gibbon
evidently held the same viewj and finally Mr. Lecky, in his
Rise and Influence of Rationalism and History of European
Morals y both of which I read this winter, established in my
mind a predominantly secular view. For a time I was indig
nant at having been told so many untruths, as I then re
garded them, by the schoolmasters and clergy who had
guided my youth. Of course if I had been at a University
my difficulties might have been resolved by the eminent pro
fessors and divines who are gathered there. At any rate, they
would have shown me equally convincing books putting the
opposite point of view. As it was I passed through a violent
and aggressive anti-religious phase which, had it lasted,
might easily have made me a nuisance. My poise was re
stored during the next few years by frequent contact with
danger. I found that whatever I might think and argue, I
did not hesitate to ask for special protection when about to
come under the fire of the enemy: nor to feel sincerely grate
ful when I got home safe to tea. I even asked for lesser
things than not to be killed too soon, and nearly always in
these years, and indeed throughout my life, I got what I
wanted. This practice seemed perfectly natural, and just as

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strong and real as the reasoning process which contradicted
it so sharply. Moreover the practice was comforting and the
reasoning led nowhere. I therefore acted in accordance with
my feelings without troubling to square such conduct with
the conclusions of thought.

It is a good thing for an uneducated man to read books of
quotations. Bartlett's Familiar Quotations is an admirable
work, . and I studied it intently. The quotations when en
graved upon the memory give you good thoughts. They also
make you anxious to read the authors and look for more. In
this or some other similar book I came across a French say
ing which seemed singularly opposite. cLe coeur a ses raisons,
que la raison ne connait pas.' It seemed to me that it would
be very foolish to discard the reasons of the heart for those
of the head. Indeed I could not see why I should not enjoy
them both. I did not worry about the inconsistency of think
ing one way and believing the other. It seemed good to let
the mind explore so far as it could the paths of thought and
logic, and also good to pray for help and succour, and be
thankful when they came. I could not feel that the Supreme
Creator who gave us our minds as well as our souls would be
offended if they did not always run smoothly together in
double harness. After all He must have foreseen this from
the beginning and of course He would understand it all.

Accordingly I have always been surprised to see some of
our Bishops and clergy making such heavy weather about
reconciling the Bible story with modern scientific and his
torical knowledge. Why do they want to reconcile them? If
you are the recipient of a message which cheers your heart
and fortifies your soul, which promises you reunion with
those you have loved in a world of larger opportunity and
wider sympathies, why should you worry about the shape or
colour of the travel-stained envelope 5 whether it is duly
stamped, whether the date on the postmark is right or wrong?
These matters may be puzzling, but they are certainly not
important. What is important is the message and the benefits

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EDUCATION AT BANGALORE

to you of receiving it. Close reasoning can conduct one to the
precise conclusion that miracles are impossible: that cit is
much more likely that human testimony should err, than
that the laws of nature should be violated' 3 and at the same
time one may rejoice to read how Christ turned the water
into wine in Cana of Galilee or walked on the lake or rose
from the dead. The human brain cannot comprehend in
finity, but the discovery of mathematics enables it to be han
dled quite easily. The idea that nothing is true except what
we comprehend is silly, and that ideas which our minds can
not reconcile are mutually destructive, sillier still. Certainly
nothing could be more repulsive both to our minds and feel
ings than the spectacle of thousands of millions of universes
— for that is what they say it comes to now — all knocking
about together for ever without any rational or good pur
pose behind them. I therefore adopted quite early in life a
system of believing whatever I wanted to believe, while at
the same time leaving reason to pursue unfettered whatever
paths she was capable of treading.

Some of my cousins who had the great advantage of Uni
versity education used to tease me with arguments to prove
that nothing has any existence except what we think of it.
The whole creation is but a dream } all phenomena are imag
inary. You create your own universe as you go along. The
stronger your imagination, the more variegated your uni
verse. When you leave off dreaming, the universe ceases to
exist. These amusing mental acrobatics are all right to play
with. They are perfectly harmless and perfectly useless. I
warn my younger readers only to treat them as a game. The
metaphysicians will have the last word and defy you to dis
prove their absurd propositions.

I always rested upon the following argument which I de
vised for myself many years ago. We look up in the sky and
see the sun. Our eyes are dazzled and our senses record the
fact. So here is this great sun standing apparently on no bet
ter foundation than our physical senses. But happily there is

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A ROVING COMMISSION

a method, apart altogether from our physical senses, of test
ing the reality of the sun. It is by mathematics. By means of
prolonged processes of mathematics, entirely separate from
the senses, astronomers are able to calculate when an eclipse
will occur. They predict by pure reason that a black spot will
pass across the sun on a certain day. You go and look, and
your sense of sight immediately tells you that their calcula
tions are vindicated. So here you have the evidence of the
senses reinforced by the entirely separate evidence of a vast
independent process of mathematical reasoning. We have
taken what is called in military map-making 'a cross bearing.'
We have got independent testimony to the reality of the
sun. When my metaphysical friends tell me that the data on
which the astronomers made their calculations, were neces
sarily obtained originally through the evidence of the senses,
I say <No.> They might, in theory at any rate, be obtained by
automatic calculating-machines set in motion by the light
falling upon them without admixture of the human senses at
any stage. When they persist that we should have to be told
about the calculations and use our ears for that purpose, I
reply that the mathematical process has a reality and virtue
in itself, and that once discovered it constitutes a new and in
dependent factor. I am also at this point accustomed to re
affirm with emphasis my conviction that the sun is real, and
also that it is hot — in fact as hot as Hell, and that if the
metaphysicians doubt it they should go there and see.

* * * * 3|C

Our first incursion into the Indian polo world was dra
matic Within six weeks of our landing, the tournament for
the Golconda Cup was played in Hyderabad. The capital of
the Nizam's dominions and the neighbouring British garri
son, five miles away in the cantonment of Secunderabad, main
tained between them six or seven polo teams. Among these
were the tyih Hussars, whom we had just relieved at Banga
lore. There was ill-feeling between the men of the 4th and

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BANGALORE

EDUCATION AT BANGALORE

1 9th Hussars, arising out of an unfavourable remark alleged
to have been made by some private soldier thirty years before
about the state of the 4th Hussars5 barracks when the igth
had taken over from them on some occasion. Although not
a single soul remained of those involved in the previous dis
pute, the sergeants and soldiers were found fully informed
about it, and as angry as if it had only taken place the month
before. These differences did not, however, extend to the
commissioned ranks, and we were most hospitably enter
tained by the Officers5 Mess. I was accommodated in the
bungalow of a young Captain named Chetwode, now the
appointed Commander-in-Chief in India. Apart from other
garrison teams, there were two formidable Indian rivals: the
Vicar Al Umra, or Prime Minister's team, and the repre
sentatives of the famous Golconda Brigade, the bodyguard
of the Nizam himself. The Golcondas were considered in
comparably the best team in Southern India. Many and close
were the contests which they had waged with Patiala and
Jodhpore, the leading native teams in Northern India. Im
mense wealth, manifested in ponies, was at their disposal,
and they had all the horsemanship and comprehension of
polo which were in those days the common ideal of young In
dian and British officers.

Accompanied by the stud of ponies we had purchased com
plete from the Poona Light Horse, we set out anxious but
determined on the long journey across the Deccan. Our
hosts, the 1 9th, received us with open arms, and informed us
with all suitable condolences that we had had the great mis
fortune to draw the Golconda team in the first round. They
were sincere when they said what bad luck it was for us, after
being so little time in India, to be confronted in our first
match with the team that would certainly win the tourna
ment.

In the morning we were spectators of a review of the en
tire garrison. The British troops, the regular Indian troops*
and the Nizam's army paraded and defiled in martial pomp

119

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before us, or perhaps it was before the official notabilities. At
the end came a score of elephants drawing tandem-fashion
gigantic cannon. It was then the custom for the elephants to
salute as they marched past by raising their trunks, and this
they all did with exemplary precision. Later on the custom
was abolished because vulgar people tittered and the dignity
of the elephants or their mahouts was wounded. Later on still,
the elephants themselves were abolished, and we now have
clattering tractors drawing far larger and more destructive
guns. Thus civilisation advances. But I mourn the elephants
and their salutations.

In the afternoon there was the polo match. Tournaments
in Hyderabad were a striking spectacle. The whole ground
was packed with enormous masses of Indian spectators of all
classes watching the game with keen and instructed attention.
The tents and canopied stands were thronged with the Brit
ish community and the Indian rank and fashion of the
Deccan. We were expected to be an easy prey, and when our
lithe, darting, straight-hitting opponents scored 3 goals to
nothing in the first few minutes, we almost shared the gen
eral opinion. However, without going into details which,
though important, are effaced by the march of time and
greater events, amid roars of excitement from the assembled
multitudes we defeated the Golcondas by 9 goals to 3. On
succeeding days we made short work of all other opponents,
and established the record, never since broken, of winning a
first-class tournament within fifty days of landing in India.

The reader may imagine with what reinforcement of re
solve we applied ourselves to the supreme task that lay
ahead. Several years were, however, to stand between us and
its accomplishment.

With the approach of the hot weather season of 1897 it
became known that a proportion of officers might have what
was called 'three months' accumulated privilege leave/ to
England. Having so newly arrived, hardly anybody wanted
to go. I thought it was a pity that such good things should

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EDUCATION AT BANGALORE

go a-begging, and I therefore volunteered to fill the gap. I
sailed from Bombay towards the end of May in sweltering
heat, rough weather and fearful seasickness. When I sat up
again, we were two-thirds across the Indian Ocean, and I
soon struck up an acquaintance with a tall thin Colonel, then
in charge of Musketry Training in India, named Ian Hamil
ton. He pointed out to me what I had hitherto overlooked,
that tension existed between Greece and Turkey. In fact
those powers were on the point of war. Being romantic, he
was for the Greeks, and hoped to serve with them in some
capacity. Having been brought up a Tory, I was for the
Turks 5 and I thought I might follow their armies as a news
paper correspondent. I also declared that they would cer
tainly defeat the Greeks, as they were at least five to one
and much better armed. He was genuinely pained j so I made
it clear that I would take no part in the operations, but
would merely see the fun and tell the tale. When we arrived
at Port Said it was clear that the Greeks had already been
defeated. They had run away from the unfair contest with
equal prudence and rapidity, and the Great Powers were en
deavouring to protect them by diplomacy from destruction.
So instead of going to the battlefields of Thrace, I spent a
fortnight in Italy, climbing Vesuvius, cdoing' Pompeii and,
above all, seeing Rome. I read again the sentences in which
Gibbon has described the emotions with which in his later
years for the first time he approached the Eternal City, and
though I had none of his credentials of learning, it was not
without reverence that I followed in his footsteps.

This formed a well-conceived prelude to the gaieties of
the London season.

121

CHAPTER X
THE MALAKAND FIELD FORCE

I WAS on the lawns of Goodwood in lovely weather and
winning my money, when the revolt of the Pathan tribes
men of the Indian frontier began. I read in the newspapers
that a Field Force of three brigades had been formed, and
that at the head of it stood Sir Bindon Blood. Forthwith I
telegraphed reminding him of his promise, and took the
train for Brindisi to catch the Indian Mail. I impressed Lord
William Beresford into my cause. He reinforced my ap
peals to the General. He entertained me at the Marlborough
Club before my train left Victoria. These Beresfords had a
great air. They made one feel that the world and everyone
In it were of fine consequence. I remember the manner in
which he announced my purpose to a circle of club friends
many years my seniors. 'He goes to the East to-night — to
the seat of war.' 'To the East7 — the expression struck me.
Most people would have said cHe is going out to India;5 but
to that generation the East meant the gateway to the ad
ventures and conquests of England. <To the Front?3 they
asked. Alas, I could only say I hoped so. However, they were
all most friendly and even enthusiastic. I felt very impor
tant, but naturally observed a marked discretion upon Sir
Bindon Blood's plan of campaign.

I only just caught the train j but I caught it in the best of
spirits.

One voyage to India is enough} the others are merely re
pletion. It was the hottest season of the year, and the Red
Sea was stifling. The hand-pulled punkahs, for in those days
there were no electric fans, flapped vigorously to and fro in
the crowded dining-saloon and agitated the hot food-smell
ing air. But these physical discomforts were nothing beside
my mental anxieties. I was giving up a whole fortnight's

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THE MALAKAND FIELD FORCE

leave. At Brindisi no answer had come from Sir Bindon
Blood. It was sure to come at Aden. There I danced about
from one foot to the other till the steward had distributed
the last of the telegrams and left me forlorn. However, at
Bombay was good news. The GeneraPs message was 'Very
difficult; no vacancies 5 come up as a correspondent 5 will try
to fit you in. B. B.>

I had first of all to obtain leave from my regiment at
Bangalore. This meant a two days' journey by railway in the
opposite direction to that in which my hopes were directed.
The regiment was surprised to see me back before my time,
but an extra subaltern for duty was always welcome. Mean
while I had been commissioned as war correspondent by the
Pioneer newspaper, and my Mother had also arranged in
England that my letters should be simultaneously published
in the Daily Telegraph) for which that journal was willing
to pay £5 a column. This was not much, considering that I
had to pay all my own expenses. I carried these journalistic
credentials when I presented in much anxiety Sir Bindon
Blood's telegram to my commanding officer. But the Colo
nel was indulgent, and the fates were kind. Although the
telegram was quite informal and unofficial, I was told that
I could go and try my luck. That night therefore with
my dressing-boy and campaigning kit I sped to the Banga
lore railway station and bought a ticket for Nowshera. The
Indian clerk, having collected from me a small sack of ru
pees, pushed an ordinary ticket through a pigeon hole. I had
the curiosity to ask how far it was. The polite Indian con
sulted a railway time table and impassively answered 2,028
miles. Quite a big place, India! This meant a five days'
journey in the worst of the heat. I was alone; but with plenty
of books, the time passed not unpleasantly. Those large
leather-lined Indian railway carriages, deeply-shuttered and
blinded from the blistering sun and kept fairly cool by a
circular wheel of wet straw which one turned from time to
time, were well adapted to the local conditibns. I spent five

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days in a dark padded moving cell, reading mostly by lamp'
light or by some jealously admitted ray of glare.

I broke my journey for a night and day at Rawalpindi
where I had a subaltern friend in the Fourth Dragoon
Guards. There was a certain stir in Rawalpindi, although it
was some hundreds of miles away from the front. The whole
garrison was hoping to be sent north. All leave was stopped
and the Dragoon Guards were expecting to be ordered any
day to grind their swords. After dinner we repaired to the
Sergeants' Mess, where a spirited sing-song was in progress.
Nothing recalls the past so potently as a smell. In default of
a smell the next best mnemonic is a tune. I have got tunes
in my head for every war I have been to, and indeed for
every critical or exciting phase in my life. Some day when
my ship comes home, I am going to have them all collected
in gramophone records, and then I will sit in a chair and
smoke my cigar, while pictures and faces, moods and sensa
tions long-vanished return j and pale but true there gleams
the light of other days. I remember well the songs the sol
diers sang on this occasion. There was a song called *The
New Photographee' about some shocking invention which
had just been made enabling photographs to be taken through
a screen or other opaque obstruction. This was the first I had
heard of it. It appeared that there might soon be an end to
all privacy. In the words of the song

*The | in | side | of | ev | er | y |- thing | you | see, |
A ter | ri | ble | thing, | an | 'or | ri | ble | thing, | is | the | new |
pho | tog | ra | phee.' |

Of course we treated it all as a joke, but afterwards I read
in the newspaper that they might some day even be able to
see the very bones in your body! Then there was the song,
the chorus of which was —

'And England asks the question
When danger's nigh
Will the sons of India do or die?'

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THE MALAKAND FIELD FORCE

and naturally a reassuring answer was forthcoming. But the
best of all was

'Great White Mother, far across the sea,
Ruler of the Empire may she ever be.
Long may she reign, glorious and free,
In the Great White Motherland.'

I felt much uplifted by these noble sentiments especially
after having been spaciously entertained at the regimental
mess. I comported myself however with purposed discre
tion, because there was at this time some ill-feeling between
this distinguished regiment and my own. An officer of the
Fourth Dragoon Guards had telegraphed to one of our Cap
tains in the ordinary routine of the service, saying 'Please
state your lowest terms for an exchange into the Fourth
Dragoon Guards.' To which our Captain had gaily replied
c£ 1 0,000, a Peerage and a free kit.' The Dragoon Guards had
taken umbrage at this and thought it was a reflection upon
the standing of their regiment. This ruffing of plumes added
zest to the competitions we were later on to have with this
fine regiment in the polo championships of 1898 and 1899.
I must not allow the reader to forget that I am on my
way post-haste to the front, and early on the sixth morning
after I had left Bangalore I stood on the platform of Now-
shera, the railhead of the Malakand Field Force, It was
forty miles across the plains in really amazing heat, before
the tonga — a kind of little cart drawn by relays of gallop
ing ponies — began to climb the steep winding ascent to the
Malakand Pass. This defile had been forced by Sir Bindon
Blood three years before, and the headquarters for the new
campaign, together with a brigade of all arms, were encamped
upon its summit. Yellow with dust I presented myself at the
Staff Office. The General was away. He had gone with a fly
ing column to deal with the Bunerwals, a most formidable
tribe with a valley of their own in which they had main
tained themselves for centuries against all comers. In 1863

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the Imperial Government had sent an expedition to Buner
resulting in what is known in Anglo-Indian annals as the
Umbeyla campaign. The Bunerwals had resisted with extra
ordinary spirit, and the skeletons of several hundred British
soldiers and Sepoys mouldered round the once notorious
Crag Picquet, stormed and retaken again and again. No one
knew how long Sir Bindon Blood would be occupied in deal
ing with these famous and ferocious bandits. In the mean
while I was made a member of the Staff Mess and told I
might unroll my Wolseley valise in one of the tents. I de
cided in great docility to be always on my best behaviour for
fear that anything should happen to get me a bad name in
this new world into which I had climbed.

The General took only five days to coax and quell the
Bunerwals, but it seemed a very long time to me. I en
deavoured to turn it to the best advantage. I acquired an
entirely new faculty. Until this time I had never been able
to drink whisky. I disliked the flavour intensely. I could not
understand how so many of my brother officers were so often
calling for a whisky and soda. I liked wine, both red and
white, and especially champagne} and on very special occa
sions I could even drink a small glass of brandy. But this
smoky-tasting whisky I had never been able to face. I now
found myself in heat which, though I stood it personally
fairly well, was terrific, for five whole days and with absolutely
nothing to drink, apart from tea, except either tepid water
or tepid water with lime-juice or tepid water with whisky.
Faced with these alternatives I 'grasped the larger hope.' I
was sustained in these affairs by my high morale. Wishing to
fit myself for active-service conditions I overcame the ordi
nary weaknesses of the flesh. By the end of these five days I
had completely overcome my repugnance to the taste of
whisky. Nor was this a momentary acquirement. On the con
trary the ground I gained in those days I have firmly en
trenched, and held throughout my whole life. Once one got
the knack of it, the very repulsion from the flavour devel-

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THE MALAKAND FIELD FORCE

oped an attraction of its own 5 and to this day although I have
always practised true temperance, I have never shrunk when
occasion warranted it from the main basic standing refresh
ment of the white officer in the East.

Of course all this whisky business was quite a new depar
ture in fashionable England. My father for instance could
never have drunk whisky except when shooting on a moor
or in some very dull chilly place. He lived in the age of the
'Brandy and Soda/ for which indeed there was much re
spectable warrant. However, surveying the proposition from
an impartial standpoint after adequate experiment and reflec
tion, I am clear that for ordinary daily use whisky in a
diluted form is the more serviceable of these twin genii.

Now that I have been drawn into this subject while
perched upon the Malakand Pass, let me say that I and other
young officers had been brought up quite differently from
the University boys of those times. The undergraduates of
Oxford and Cambridge used to drink like fishes, and they
even had clubs and formal dinners where it was an obligation
for everyone to consume more liquor than he could carry. At
Sandhurst, on the other hand, and in the Army, drunkenness
was a disgraceful offence punishable not only by social rep
robation often physically manifested, but if it ever got into
the official sphere, by the sack. I had been brought up and
trained to have the utmost contempt for people who got
drunk; — except on very exceptional occasions and a few
anniversaries — and I would have liked to have the boozing
scholars of the Universities wheeled into line and properly
chastised for their squalid misuse of what I must ever regard
as a good gift of the gods. In those days I was very much
against drunkards, prohibitionists and other weaklings of
excess: but now I can measure more charitably the frailties
of nature from which their extravagances originate. Subal
terns in those days were an intolerant tribe 5 they used to
think that if a man got drunk or would not allow other peo
ple to have a drink, he ought to be kicked. Of course we all

127

A ROVING COMMISSION

know much better now, having been civilised and ennobled
by the Great War.

I had also in these five days to fit myself out in all respects
for the approaching movement of our force. I had to buy
two good horses, engage a military syce (groom), and com
plete my martial wardrobe in many particulars. Unluckily
for them, but very conveniently for me, several officers had
been killed in the preceding week, and their effects, including
what they had stood up in, were, in accordance with Anglo-
Indian campaigning custom, sold by auction as soon as the
funeral (if any) was over. In this way I soon acquired a com
plete outfit. It struck me as rather grim to see the intimate
belongings of one's comrade of the day before — his coat, his
shirt, his boots, his water-bottle, his revolver, his blanket,
his cooking-pot — thus unceremoniously distributed among
strangers. But after all it was quite logical and in accordance
with the highest principles of economics. Here was much the
best market. All transport charges were already defrayed.
The dead man disposed of his assets on what were virtually
monopoly terms. The camp auctioneer realised far better
prices than any widow or mother could have done for the
worldly effects of Lieut. A.B. or Capt. X.Y. And as it was
with the officers, so also was it much more frequently with
the private soldier. Still I must admit that I felt a pang when
a few weeks later I first slung round my shoulder the lan
yard of a gallant friend I had seen killed the day before.

The time has come when I must put the reader into a
more general comprehension of the campaign.1 For three
years the British had held the summit of the Malakand Pass
and thus had maintained the road from the Swat Valley and
across the Swat River by many other valleys to ChitraL
Chitral was then supposed to be of great military importance*
It has always seemed to get along quite happily since, but no
doubt it was very important then. The tribesmen of the Swat
Valley, irritated by the presence of the troops in what they

xSee Map of Indian Frontier on page 133.

128

THE MALAKAND FIELD FORCE

had for generations regarded as their own country, had sud
denly burst out in a fury, attributed by the Government to
religion, but easily explainable on quite ordinary grounds.
They had attacked the garrisons holding the Malakand Pass
and the little fort of Chakdara which, peeked up on a rock
like a miniature Gibraltar, defended the long swinging
bridge across the Swat River. The misguided tribesmen had
killed quite a lot of people, including a number of women
and children belonging to the friendly and pacified inhabi
tants. There had been a moment of crisis in the defence of
the Malakand Pass from a sudden and surprise attack. How
ever, the onslaught had been repulsed, and in the morning
light the Guides Cavalry and the nth Bengal Lancers had
chased these turbulent and froward natives from one end of
the Swat Valley to the other, claiming that they had speared
and otherwise slain considerable numbers of them. The fort
of Chakdara, the Lilliputian Gibraltar, had just survived its
siege and saved its soul (and skin) alive. The swinging wire-
rope bridge was intact, and by this bridge the punitive expe
dition of, say, 1 2,000 men and 4,000 animals was now about
to march into the mountains, through the valleys of Dir and
Bajaur, past the Mamund country, finally rejoining civilisa
tion in the plains of India after subduing the Mohmands,
another tribe who had also been extremely contumacious in
the neighborhood of Peshawar.

Sir Bindon Blood returned in due course from the sub
jugation of the Bunerwals. He was a very experienced An
glo-Indian officer and he had reduced the Bunerwals to
reason almost without killing anybody. He liked these wild
tribesmen and understood the way to talk to them. The
Pathans are strange people. They have all sorts of horrible
customs and frightful revenges. They understand bargaining
perfectly, and provided they are satisfied first of all that you
are strong enough to talk to them on even terms, one can
often come to an arrangement across the floor of the House,
or rather ^behind the Chair.' Now, Sir Bindon Blood had

129

A ROVING COMMISSION

cleared it all up quite happily with the Bunerwals. There
had only been one fight and that a small one, in which his
aide-de-camp Lord Fincastle and another officer had gained
the V.C. by rescuing, in circumstances of peculiar valour, a
wounded comrade, about to be finished off. Back then comes
my old friend of Deepdene days, a General and Comman-
der-in-Chief with his staff and escort around him and his
young heroes in his train.

Sir Bindon Blood was a striking figure in these savage
mountains and among these wild rifle-armed clansmen. He
looked very much more formidable in his uniform, mounted,
with his standard-bearer and cavalcade, than he had done
when I had seen him in safe and comfortable England. He
had seen a great deal of the British and Indian armies in
war and peace, and he had no illusions on any point. He was
very proud to be the direct descendant of the notorious
Colonel Blood, who in the reign of King Charles II had
attempted to steal by armed force the Crown Jewels from
the Tower of London. The episode is in the history books.
The Colonel was arrested as he quitted the Tower gates with
important parts of the regalia in his hands. Brought to trial
for high treason and several other capital offences, he was
acquitted and immediately appointed to command the King's
bodyguard. This strange sequence of events gave rise to
scurrilous suggestions that his attempt to abstract the Crown
Jewels from the Tower had the connivance of the Sover
eign himself. It is certainly true that the King was very
short of money in those hard times, and that the prede
cessors of Mr. Attenborough were already in existence in
various parts of Europe. However this may be, Sir Bindon
Blood regarded the attempted stealing of the Crown Jewels
by his ancestor as the most glorious event in his family his
tory, and in consequence he had warm sympathy with the
Pathan tribes on the Indian frontier, all of whom would
have completely understood the incident in all its bearings,
and would have bestowed unstinted and discriminating ap
plause upon all parties. If the General could have got them

130

THE MALAKAND FIELD FORCE

all together and told them the story at length by broadcast,
it would never have been necessary for three brigades with
endless tails of mule and camel transport to toil through the
mountains and sparsely populated highlands in which my
next few weeks were to be passed.

The General, then already a veteran, is alive and hale
to-day. He had one personal ordeal in this campaign. A
fanatic approaching in a deputation (called a jirga) whipped
out a knife, and rushed upon him from about eight yards.
Sir Bindon Blood, mounted upon his horse, drew his re
volver, which most of us thought on a General of Division
was merely a token weapon, and shot his assailant dead at
two yards. It is easy to imagine how delighted everyone in
the Field Force, down to the most untouchable sweeper, was
at such an event.

It is not my purpose to relate the campaign. I have al
ready written, as will presently appear, a standard history on
the subject. Unhappily it is out of print. I will therefore
summarise only in a few sentences its course. The three
brigades of the Malakand Field Force moved in succession
through all the valleys I have mentioned, trailing their coats
before the tribesmen and causing them much inconvenience
by driving off their cattle for rations and cutting their crops
for forage. The Political Officers who accompanied the force,
with white tabs on their collars, parleyed all the time with
the chiefs, the priests and other local notables. These polit
ical officers were very unpopular with the army officers.
They were regarded as marplots. It was alleged that they al
ways patched things up and put many a slur upon the
prestige of the Empire without ever letting anyone know
about it. They were accused of the grievous crime of Shilly
shallying,' which being interpreted means doing everything
you possibly can before you shoot. We had with us a very
brilliant political officer, a Major Deane, who was much dis
liked because he always stopped military operations. Just
when we were looking forward to having a splendid fight
and all the guns were loaded and everyone keyed up, this

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Major Deane — and why was he a Major anyhow? so we
said — being in truth nothing better than an ordinary poli
tician — would come along and put a stop to it all. Apparently
all these savage chiefs were his old friends and almost his
blood relations. Nothing disturbed their friendship. In be
tween the fights, they talked as man to man and as pal to
pal, just as they talked to our General as robber to robber.

We knew nothing about the police vs. the crook gangs in
Chicago, but this must have been in the same order of ideas.
Undoubtedly they all understood each other very well and
greatly despised things like democracy, commercialism,
money-getting, business, honesty and vulgar people of all
kinds. We on the other hand wanted to let off our guns. We
had not come all this way and endured all these heats and
discomforts — which really were trying — you could lift the
heat with your hands, it sat on your shoulders like a knap
sack, it rested on your head like a nightmare — in order to
participate in an interminable interchange of confidences
upon unmentionable matters between the political officers
and these sulky and murderous tribesmen. And on the other
side we had the very strong spirit of the 'die-hards' and the
'young bloods' of the enemy. They wanted to shoot at us and
we wanted to shoot at them. But we were both baffled by
what they called the elders, or as one might now put it 'the
old gang,' and by what we could see quite plainly— the white
tabs or white feathers on the lapels of the political officers.
However, as has hitherto usually been the case, the carnivor
ous forces had their way. The tribes broke away from their
'old gang' and were not calmed by our political officers. So
a lot of people were killed, and on our side their widows
have had to be pensioned by the Imperial Government, and
others were badly wounded and hopped around for the rest
of their lives, and it was all very exciting and, for those who
did not get killed or hurt, very jolly.

I hope to convey to the reader by these somewhat irrev
erent sentences some idea of the patience and knowledge of

132

THE MALAK.AND FIELD FORCE

the Government of India. It is patient because among other
things it knows that if the worst comes to the worst, it can
shoot anybody down. Its problem is to avoid such hateful
conclusions. It is a sedate Government tied up by laws,
tangled about with parleys and many intimate relationships;
tied up not only by the House of Commons, but by all sorts

MAP

Illustrating the

operations of the

MALAKAND FIELD

FORCE

SCALE OF MILES
0 JO SO 30

of purely Anglo-Indian restraints varying from the grandest
conceptions of liberal magnanimity down to the most minute
obstructions and inconveniences of red tape. So societies in
quiet years should be constructed, overwhelming force on the
side of the rulers, innumerable objections to the use of any
part of it. Still from time to time things will happen and
there are lapses, and what are called 'regrettable incidents'
will occur, and it is with one of these that the next few pages
of this account must deal,

133

CHAPTER XI

THE MAMUND VALLEY

^-CAMPAIGNING on the Indian frontier is an experience by
*^J itself. Neither the landscape nor the people find their
counterparts in any other portion of the globe. Valley walls
rise steeply five or six thousand feet on every side. The
columns crawl through a maze of giant corridors down which
fierce snow-fed torrents foam under skies of brass. Amid
these scenes of savage brilliancy there dwells a race whose
qualities seem to harmonise' with their environment. Except
at harvest-time, when self-preservation enjoins a temporary
truce, the Pathan tribes are always engaged in private or
public war. Every man is a warrior, a politician and a the
ologian. Every large house is a real feudal fortress made, it
is true, only of sunbaked clay, but with battlements, turrets,
loopholes, flanking towers, drawbridges, etc., complete.
Every village has its defence. Every family cultivates its
vendetta 5 every dan, its feud. The numerous tribes and
combinations of tribes all have their accounts to settle with
one another. Nothing is ever forgotten, and very few debts
are left unpaid. For the purposes of social life, in addition to
the convention about harvest-time, a most elaborate code of
honour has been established and is on the whole faithfully
observed. A man who knew it and observed it faultlessly
might pass unarmed from one end of the frontier to another.
The slightest technical slip would, however, be fatal. The
life of the Pathan is thus full of interest; and his valleys,
nourished alike by endless sunshine and abundant water, are
fertile enough to yield with little labour the modest material
requirements of a sparse population.

Into this happy world the nineteenth century brought two
new facts 5 the breech-loading rifle and the British Govern-

134

THE MAMUND VALLEY

ment. The first was an enormous luxury and blessing 5 the
second, an unmitigated nuisance. The convenience of the
breech-loading, and still more of the magazine, rifle was no
where more appreciated than in the Indian highlands. A
weapon which would kill with accuracy at fifteen hundred
yards opened a whole new vista of delights to every family
or clan which could acquire it. One could actually remain in
one's own house and fire at one's neighbour nearly a mile
away. One could lie in wait on some high crag, and at hither
to unheard-of ranges hit a horseman far below. Even vil
lages could fire at each other without the trouble of going far
from home. Fabulous prices were therefore offered for these
glorious products of science. Rifle-thieves scoured all India
to reinforce the efforts of the honest smuggler. A steady flow
of the coveted weapons spread its genial influence throughout
the frontier, and the respect which the Pathan tribesmen
entertained for Christian civilization was vastly enhanced."

The action of the British Government on the other hand
was entirely unsatisfactory. The great organizing, advancing,
absorbing power to the southward seemed to be little better
than a monstrous spoil-sport. If the Pathans made forays
into the plains, not only were they driven back (which after all
was no more than fair), but a whole series of subsequent in
terferences took place, followed at intervals by expeditions
which toiled laboriously through the valleys, scolding the
tribesmen and exacting fines for any damage which they had
done. No one would have minded these expeditions if they
had simply come, had a fight and then gone away again. In
many cases this was their practice under what was called the
^butcher and bolt policy' to which the Government of India
long adhered. But towards the end of the nineteenth cen
tury these intruders began to make roads through many of
the valleys, and in particular the great road to Chitral. They
sought to insure the safety of these roads by threats, by forts
and by subsidies. There was no objection to the last method
so far as it went. But the whole of this tendency to road-

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making was regarded by the Pathans with profound distaste.
All along the road people were expected to keep quiet, not to
shoot one another, and, above all not to shoot at travellers
along the road. It was too much to ask, and a whole series of
quarrels took their origin from this source.

* # * * *

Our march to the Mohmand country led us past the
mouth of the Mamund Valley. This valley is a pan-shaped
plain nearly ten miles broad. No dispute existed between us
and the Mamunds. Their reputation was pestilential, and the
greatest care was taken to leave them alone. But the spectacle
of the camp with its beautifully-ruled lines of shelters against
the sun, with its cluster of hospital tents and multitudes of
horses, camels, mules and donkeys, was too much for the
Mamunds. Our fires twinkling in a wide quadrilateral through
the night offered a target too tempting for human nature as
developed on the Indian frontier to resist. Sniping by indi
viduals was inevitable and began after dark upon the camp of
our leading brigade. No great harm was done. A few men
were wounded. Sir Bindon Blood continued his dinner im
passively, although at one moment we had to put out the
candles. In the morning, overlooking the Mamund im
pudence, we marched on to Nawagai. But the tribesmen were
now excited, and when our second Brigade which was follow
ing at two days interval arrived, hundreds of men, armed
with every kind of weapon from the oldest flintlock to the
latest rifle, spent three exhilarating hours in firing continu
ously into the crowded array of men and animals. The great
bulk of the troops had already dug themselves shallow pits,
and the whole camp had been surrounded with a shelter
trench. Nevertheless this night's sport cost them about forty
officers and men, and many horses and pack animals besides.
On this being reported, Sir Bindon Blood sent orders to re
taliate. General Jeffreys commanding the second Brigade
was told to enter the Mamund Valley on the following day

136

THE MAMUND VALLEY

and chastise the truculent assailants. The chastisement was to
take the form of marching up their valley, which is a cul de
sac, to its extreme point, destroying all the crops, breaking
the reservoirs of water, blowing up as many castles as time
permitted, and shooting anyone who obstructed the process.
'If you want to see a fight/ said Sir Bindon to me, cyou may
ride back and join Jeffreys.' So availing myself of an escort
of Bengal Lancers which was returning to the second
Brigade, I picked my way gingerly through the 10 miles of
broken ground which divided the two camps, and arrived at
Jeffreys' Headquarters before nightfall.

All night long the bullets flew across the camp 5 but every
one now had good holes to lie in, and the horses and mules
were protected to a large extent. At earliest dawn on Sep
tember 1 6 our whole Brigade, preceded by a squadron of
Bengal Lancers, marched in warlike formation into the
Mamund Valley and was soon widely spread over its ex
tensive area. There were three separate detachments, each of
which had its own punitive mission to fulfil. As these di
verged fanwise, and as our total number did not exceed
twelve hundred fighting men, we were all soon reduced to
quite small parties. I attached myself to the centre column
whose mission it was to proceed to the farthest end of the
valley. I began by riding with the cavalry.

We got to the head of the valley without a shot being
fired. The villages and the plain were equally deserted. As
we approached the mountain wall our field-glasses showed
us clusters of tiny figures gathered on a conical hill. From
these little blobs the sun threw back at intervals bright
flashes of steel as the tribesmen waved their swords. This
sight gave everyone the greatest pleasure, and our leading
troop trotted and cantered forward to a small grove of trees
which stood within rifle shot of the conical hill. Here we dis
mounted — perhaps fifteen carbines in all — and opened fire
at seven hundred yards' range. Instantly the whole hill be
came spotted with white puffs of smoke, and bullets began

137

A ROVING COMMISSION

to whistle through our little grove. This enjoyable skirmish
crackled away for nearly an hour, and meanwhile the in
fantry toiled nearer and nearer to us across the plain. When
they arrived, it was settled that the leading company of the
35th Sikhs should attack the conical hill and two more com
panies should proceed up a long spur to the left of it to
wards a village whose roofs could be seen amid the boulders
and waving Indian corn of the mountain-side. The cavalry
meanwhile would guard the plain and keep connection with
the reserve of our force under the Brigadier, which now con
sisted mainly of the Buffs.1

I decided to go with the second party up the long spur
towards the village. I gave my pony to a native and be
gan to toil up the hillside with the Infantry. It was fright
fully hot. The sun, nearing the meridian, beat upon one's
shoulders. We plodded and stumbled upwards for nearly an
hour — now through high patches of Indian corn, now over
boulders, now along stony tracks or over bare slopes — but
always mounting. A few shots were fired from higher up the
mountain 3 but otherwise complete peace seemed to reign. As
we ascended, the whole oval pan of the Mamund Valley
spread out behind us, and pausing to mop my brow, I sat on a
rock and surveyed it. It was already nearly eleven o'clock.
The first thing that struck me was that there were no troops
to be seen. About half a mile from the foot of the spur a few
of the Lancers were dismounted. Far off against the distant
mountain wall a thin column of smoke rose from a burning
castle. Where was our Army? They had marched out twelve
hundred strong only a few hours ago, and now the valley
had swallowed them all up. I took out my glasses and
searched the plain. Mud villages and castles here and there,
the deep-cut water-courses, the gleam of reservoirs, occa
sional belts of cultivation, isolated groves of trees — all in a
sparkling atmosphere backed by serrated cliffs — but of a
British-Indian brigade, no sign.
Royal West Kent Regiment.
138

THE MAMUND VALLEY

It occurred to me for the first time that we were a very
small party: five British officers including myself, and prob
ably eighty-five Sikhs. That was absolutely all; and here we
were at the very head of the redoubtable Mamund Valley,
scrambling up to punish its farthest village. I was fresh
enough from Sandhurst to remember the warnings about
'dispersion of forces/ and certainly it seemed that the con
trast between the precautions which our strong force had
taken moving out of camp in the morning, and the present
position of our handful of men, was remarkable. However,
like most young fools I was looking for trouble, and only
hoped that something exciting would happen. It did!

At last we reached the few mud houses of the village. Like
all the others, it was deserted. It stood at the head of the
spur, and was linked to the mass of the mountains by a broad
neck. I lay down with an officer and eight Sikhs on the side of
the village towards the mountain, while the remainder of the
company rummaged about the mud houses or sat down and
rested behind them. A quarter of an hour passed and noth
ing happened. Then the Captain of the company arrived.

*We are going to withdraw,' he said to the subaltern. cYou
stay here and cover our retirement till we take up a fresh
position on that knoll below the village.' He added, 'The
Buffs don't seem to be coming up, and the Colonel thinks
we are rather in the air here.'

It struck me this was a sound observation. We waited an
other ten minutes. Meanwhile I presumed, for I could not see
them, the main body of the company was retiring from the
village towards the lower knoll. Suddenly the mountain-side
sprang to life. Swords flashed from behind rocks, bright
flags waved here and there. A dozen widely-scattered white
smoke-puffs broke from the rugged face in front of us. Loud
explosions resounded close at hand. From high up on the
crag, one thousand, two thousand, three thousand feet above
us, white or blue figures appeared, dropping down the moun
tainside from ledge to ledge like monkeys down the branches

139

A ROVING COMMISSION

of a tall tree. A shrill crying arose from many points. Yi!
Yi! Yi! Bang! Bang! Bang! The whole hillside began to be
spotted with smoke, and tiny figures descended every moment
nearer towards us. Our eight Sikhs opened an independent fire,
which soon became more and more rapid. The hostile figures
continued to flow down the mountain-side, and scores began
to gather in rocks about a hundred yards away from us. The
targets were too tempting to be resisted. I borrowed the Mar
tini of the Sikh by whom I lay. He was quite content to hand
me cartridges. I began to shoot carefully at the men gather
ing in the rocks. A lot of bullets whistled about us. But we
lay very flat, and no harm was done. This lasted perhaps five
minutes in continuous crescendo. We had certainly found the
adventure for which we had been looking. Then an English
voice close behind. It was the Battalion Adjutant.

£Come on back now. There is no time to lose. We can
cover you from the knoll.'

The Sikh whose rifle I had borrowed had put eight or
ten cartridges on the ground beside me. It was a standing
rule to let no ammunition fall into the hands of the tribes
men. The Sikh seemed rather excited, so I handed him the
cartridges one after the other to put in his pouch. This was
a lucky inspiration. The rest of our party got up and turned
to retreat. There was a ragged volley from the rocks j shouts,
exclamations, and a scream. I thought for the moment that
five or six of our men had lain down again. So they had: two
killed and three wounded. One man was shot through the
breast and pouring with blood; another lay on his back kick
ing and twisting. The British officer was spinning round just
behind me, his face a mass of blood, his right eye cut out.
Yes, it was certainly an adventure.

It is a point of honour on the Indian frontier not to leave
wounded men behind. Death by inches and hideous mutila
tion are the invariable measure meted out to all who fall in
battle into the hands of the Pathan tribesmen. Back came the
Adjutant, with another British officer of subaltern rank, a

140

THE MAMUND VALLEY

Sikh sergeant-major, and two or three soldiers. We all laid
hands on the wounded and began to carry and drag them
away down the hill. We got through the few houses, ten or
twelve men carrying four, and emerged upon a bare strip of
ground. Here stood the Captain commanding the company
with half a dozen men. Beyond and below, one hundred and
fifty yards away, was the knoll on which a supporting party
should have been posted. No sign of them! Perhaps it was the
knoll lower down. We hustled the wounded along, regard
less of their protests. We had no rearguard of any kind. All
were carrying the wounded. I was therefore sure that worse
was close at our heels. We were not half-way across the open
space when twenty or thirty furious figures appeared among
the houses, firing frantically or waving their swords.

I could only follow by fragments what happened after
that. One of the two Sikhs helping to carry my wounded
man was shot through the calf. He shouted with pain; his
turban fell off; and his long black hair streamed over his
shoulders — a tragic golliwog. Two more men came from be
low and seized hold of our man. The new subaltern and I
got the golliwog by the collar and dragged him along the
ground. Luckily it was all down hill. Apparently we hurt
him so much on the sharp rocks that he asked to be let go
alone. He hopped and crawled and staggered and stumbled,
but made a good pace. Thus he escaped. I looked round to
my left. The Adjutant had been shot. Four of his soldiers
were carrying him. He was a heavy man, and they all
clutched at him. Out from the edge of the houses rushed
half a dozen Pathan swordsmen. The bearers of the poor
Adjutant let him fall and fled at their approach. The lead
ing tribesman rushed upon the prostrate figure and slashed it
three or four times with his sword. I forgot everything else
at this moment except a desire to kill this man. I wore my
long Cavalry sword well sharpened. After all, I had won the
Public School fencing medal. I resolved on personal combat
a Parme blanche. The savage saw me coming. I was not more

141

A ROVING COMMISSION

than twenty yards away. He picked up a big stone and hurled
it at me with his left hand, and then awaited me, brandishing
his sword. There were others waiting not far behind him. I
changed my mind about the cold steel. I pulled out my re
volver, took, as I thought, most careful aim, and fired. No
result. I fired again. No result. I fired again. Whether I hit
him or not I cannot tell. At any rate he ran back two or three
yards and plumped down behind a rock. The fusillade was
continuous. I looked around. I was all alone with the enemy.
Not a friend was to be seen. I ran as fast as I could. There
were bullets, everywhere. I got to the first knolL Hurrah,
there were the Sikhs holding the lower one! They made ve
hement gestures, and in a few moments I was among them.

There was still about three-quarters of a mile of the spur
to traverse before the plain was reached, and on each side of
us other spurs ran downwards. Along these rushed our pur
suers, striving to cut us off and firing into both our flanks. I
don't know how long we took to get to the bottom. But it
was all done quite slowly and steadfastly. We carried two
wounded officers and about six wounded Sikhs with us. That
took about twenty men. We left one officer and a dozen men
dead and wounded to be cut to pieces on the spur.

During this business I armed myself with the Martini and
ammunition of a dead man, and fired as carefully as possible
thirty or forty shots at tribesmen on the left-hand ridge at
distances from eighty to a hundred and twenty yards. The
difficulty about these occasions is that one is so out of breath
and quivering with exertion, if not with excitement. How
ever, I am sure I never fired without taking aim.

We fetched up at the bottom of the spur little better than
a mob, but still with our wounded. There was the company
reserve and the Lieutenant-Colonel commanding the bat
talion and a few orderlies. The wounded were set down, and
all the survivors of the whole company were drawn up two
deep, shoulder to shoulder, while the tribesmen, who must
have now numbered two or three hundred, gathered in a

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THE MAMUND VALLEY

wide and spreading half-moon around our flanks, I saw that
the white officers were doing everything in their power to
keep the Sikhs in close order. Although this formation pre
sented a tremendous target, anything was better than being
scattered. The tribesmen were all bunched together in
clumps, and they too seemed frenzied with excitement.

The Colonel said to me, 'The Buffs are not more than
half a mile away. Go and tell them to hurry or we shall all
be wiped out.'

I had half turned to go on this errand, when a happy
thought struck me. I saw in imagination the company over
whelmed and wiped out, and myself, an Orderly Officer to
the Divisional General, arriving the sole survivor, breathless,
at top speed, with tidings of disaster and appeals for help.

CI must have that order in writing, sir,5 I said.

The Colonel looked surprised, fumbled in his tunic, pro
duced his pocket-book and began to write.

But meanwhile the Captain had made his commands heard
above the din and confusion. He had forced the company to
cease their wild and ragged fusillade. I heard an order:
'Volley firing. Ready. Present.' Crash! At least a dozen
tribesmen fell. Another volley, and they wavered. A third,
and they began to withdraw up the hillside. The bugler be
gan to sound the 'Charge.' Everyone shouted. The crisis was
over, and here, Praise be to God, were the leading files of the
Buffs. ;

Then we rejoiced and ate our lunch. But as it turned out,
we had a long way to go before night.

The Buffs had now arrived, and it was obstinately decided
to retake the spur down which we had been driven in order
to recover prestige and the body of the Adjutant. This took
us till five o'clock.

Meanwhile the other Company of the 35th Sikhs which
had ascended the mountain on our right, had suffered even

A ROVING COMMISSION

worse experiences. They eventually regained the plain, bear
ing along with them perhaps a dozen wounded, and leaving
several officers and about fifteen soldiers to be devoured by
the wolves. The shadows of evening had already fallen upon
the valley, and all the detachments so improvidently dis
persed in the morning, turned their steps towards the camp,
gradually eneveloped by a thunderstorm and by the night,
and closely followed by savage and exulting foes. I marched
home with the Buffs and the much-mauled 35th Sikhs. It
was dark when we entered the entrenchments which now sur
rounded the camp. All the other parties had already got home
after unsatisfactory, though not serious, fighting. But where
was the General? And where was his staff? And where was the
mule battery?

The perimeter of the camp was strongly guarded, and we
got ourselves some food amid the usual drizzle of sniping.
Two hours passed. Where was the General? We now knew
that he had with him besides the battery, a half-company of
sappers and miners, and in all about ten white officers. Sud
denly, from the valley there resounded the boom of a gun,
calculated to be about three miles away. It was followed at
short intervals by perhaps twenty more reports, then silence.
What could be happening? Against what targets was the
General firing his artillery in the blackness of night? Evi
dently he must be fighting at the very closest quarters. They
must be all mixed up together 5 or were these guns firing sig
nals for help? Ought we to set out to his relief? Volunteers
were not lacking. The senior officers consulted together. As
so often happens when things go wrong formalities were dis
carded, and I found myself taking part in the discussion. It
was decided that no troops could leave the camp in the night.
To send a rescue force to blunder on foot amid the innumer
able pitfalls and obstacles of the valley in pitch darkness
would be to cause a further disaster, and also to weaken the
camp fatally if it were to be attacked, as well it might be. The
General and the battery must fight it out wherever they were

144

SKETCH MAP

of the

MAM UNO VALLEY
showing the action

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^erraceif^ ++* / /<^^Ctfjft'L. **/«»*

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A ROVING COMMISSION

till daylight. Again the guns in the valley fired. So they had
not been scuppered yet. I saw for the first time the anxieties,
stresses and perplexities of war. It was not apparently all a
gay adventure. We were already in jeopardy 5 and anything
might happen. It was decided that the squadron of Bengal
Lancers, supported by a column of infantry, should set out
to relieve the General with the first light of dawn. It was now
past midnight and I slept soundly, booted and spurred, for
a few hours.

The open pan of the valley had no terrors for us in day
light. We found the General and his battery bunched up in a
mud village. He had had a rough time. He was wounded in
the head, but not seriously. Overtaken by the darkness, he
had thrown his force into some of the houses and improvised
a sort of fort. The Mamunds had arrived in the village at the
same time, and all night long a fierce struggle had raged from
house to house and in the alleys of this mud labyrinth. The
assailants knew every inch of the ground perfectly. They were
fighting in their own kitchens and parlours. The defenders
simply hung on where they could, in almost total darkness,
without the slightest knowledge of the ground or buildings.
The tribesmen broke through the walls, or clambered on or
through the roofs, firing and stabbing with their long knives.
It was a fight in a rabbit warren. Men grappled with each
other; shot each other in error 5 cannon were fired as you
might fire a pistol at an enemy two or three yards away. Four
of the ten British officers were wounded. A third of the sap
pers and gunners were casualties, and nearly all the mules
were dead or streaming with blood. The haggard faces of the
surviving officers added the final touch to this grim morning
scene. However, it was all over now. So we proceeded to shoot
the wounded mules and have breakfast.

When we all got back to camp, our General communicated
by heliograph through a distant mountain top with Sir Bindon
Blood at Nawagai. Sir Bindon and our leading brigade had
themselves been heavily attacked the night before. They had

146

THE MAMUND VALLEY

lost hundreds of animals and twenty or thirty men, but other
wise were none the worse. Sir Bindon sent orders that we were
to stay in the Mamund valley and lay it waste with fire and
sword in vengeance. This accordingly we did, but with great
precautions. We proceeded systematically, village by village,
and we destroyed the houses, filled up the wells, blew down
the towers, cut down the great shady trees, burned the crops
and broke the reservoirs in punitive devastation. So long as
the villages were in the plain, this was quite easy. The tribes
men sat on the mountains and sullenly watched the destruc
tion of their homes and means of livelihood. When however
we had to attack the villages on the sides of the mountains
they resisted fiercely, and we lost for every village two or
three British officers and fifteen or twenty native soldiers.
Whether it was worth it, I cannot tell. At any rate, at the end
of a fortnight the valley was a desert, and honour was satis
fied.

147

CHAPTER XII
THE TIRAH EXPEDITION

IN the re-arrangements which were entailed by our losses on
September 16 I was as an emergency measure posted to
the 3 ist Punjaub Infantry, which had only three white offi
cers besides the Colonel left. I have served officially as a regi
mental officer in peace or war altogether with the 4th Hus
sars, the 3ist Punjaub Infantry, the 2ist Lancers, the South
African Light Horse, the Oxfordshire Yeomanry, the 2nd
Grenadier Guards, the Royal Scots Fusiliers, and lastly, with
the Oxfordshire Artillery. Very varied were the conditions
in these different units in Asia, Africa and Europe 5 but this
Punjaub Infantry business was the most peculiar of all. Al
though a cavalry officer, I had, of course, been trained in in
fantry; drill at Sandhurst, and considered myself profession
ally competent in all minor operations, or major too, for the
matter of that. The language difficulty was however more
serious. I could hardly speak a word to the native soldiers who
were perforce committed, in the scarcity of officers, to my di
rection. I had to proceed almost entirely by signals, gestures
and dumb-crambo. To these I added three words, *Maro'
(kill), <Chalo> (get on), and Tally ho! which speaks for it
self. In these circumstances there could hardly be said to be
that intimate connection between the Company Commander
and his men which the drill books enjoin. However, in one
way or another we got through without mishap three or four
skirmishes, which I cannot dignify by the name of actions, but
which were nevertheless both instructive and exciting to the
handful of men who were engaged in them. I must have done
it all by moral influence.

Although I could not enter very fully into their thoughts
and feelings, I developed a regard for the Punjaubis. There
was no doubt they liked to have 'a white officer among them

148

THE TIRAH EXPEDITION

when fighting, and they watched him carefully to see how
things were going. If you grinned, they grinned. So I
grinned industriously. Meanwhile I despatched accounts of
the campaign both by telegram and letter to the Pioneer and
also to the Daily Telegraph*

I now had good hopes of being permanently attached to
the Malakand Field Force, and of roaming around these
valleys for some time. However, the character of the opera
tions changed. The tale of the i6th of September had been
spread far and wide among the tribesmen, and of course the
Mamunds probably made out they had had a great success.
They exaggerated the number of our slain, and no doubt
declared that their operations were proceeding according to
plan. We said the same, but they did not read our news
papers. At any rate the whole frontier region was convulsed
with excitement, and at the end of September the far more
powerful Afridi tribes joined the revolt. The Afridis live in
Tirah, a region of tremendous mountains lying to the north
of Peshawar and the east of the Khyber Pass. The moun
tains of Tirah are higher and steeper than those on the
Malakand side; and the valleys in Tirah are V-shaped in
stead of flat-bottomed. This greatly adds to the advantages
of the tribesmen and to the difficulties of regular troops. In
the middle of Tirah there is a flat plain like the Mamund
Valley, but much larger, and accessible only by the V-
shaped gorges through the mountain walls. This is called
Tirah Maidan, and one may think of it as the centre of the
maze at Hampton Court with mountains instead of hedges.

The Government of India in their wisdom now deter
mined to send an expedition to Tirah Maidan. Here they
would find all the granaries, herds and principal habitations
of the Afridi tribes. These could all be destroyed, and the
tribesmen together with their women and children driven
up to the higher mountains in the depth of winter, where
they would certainly be very uncomfortable. In order to
inflict this chastisement, two whole divisions each of three

149

A ROVING COMMISSION

brigades, say 35,000 men, together with large forces upon
the communications and at the base, would be required.
This army was accordingly mobilised, and concentrated about
Peshawar and Kohat preparatory to invading Tirah. No
white troops had ever yet reached the Maidan. The opera
tions were considered to be the most serious undertaken on
the frontier since the Afghan War, and the command was
entrusted to an officer of the highest distinction and experi
ence, Sir William Lockhart. Sir Bindon Blood, on the other
hand, was to remain holding the tribes in check on the
Malakand side. Our active operations thus came to an end,
and about the same time reserve white officers of the Punja-
ubis came up to fill the vacancies in their regiment. I there
fore turned my eyes to the Tirah Expeditionary Force and
made strenuous efforts to be incorporated in it. However,
I knew no one in high authority on that side. Colonel Ian
Hamilton indeed commanded one of the brigades and would
certainly have helped. Unluckily, he was thrown from his
pony marching through the Kohat Pass, broke his leg, lost
his brigade, missed the campaign, and nearly broke hisi
heart. While I was in this weak position, detached from one
force and not yet hooked on to the other, my Colonel far
away in Southern India began to press for my return. In
spite of Sir Bindon Blood's good-will, I fell between two
stools and finished up at Bangalore.

My brother officers when I returned to them were ex
tremely civil; but I found a very general opinion that I
had had enough leave and should now do a steady spell
of routine duty. The regiment was busy with the autumn
training and about to proceed on manoeuvres, and so less
than a fortnight after hearing the bullets whistle in the
Mamund valley, I found myself popping off blank cart-
tridges in sham fights two thousand miles away. It seemed
quite odd to hear the cracking of rifles on all sides, and
nobody taking cover or bobbing their heads. Apart from
this, the life was very much the same. It was just as hot,

. 150

THE TIRAH EXPEDITION

just as thirsty, and we marched and bivouacked day after
day. Lovely country, Mysore, with splendid trees and in
numerable sheets of stored water! We were manoeuvring
around a great mountain called Nundydroog, where the
gold mines are, and where there are groves of trees whose
leaves are brilliant scarlet.

There was certainly nothing to complain of , but as the
weeks and months pased away, I watched with wistful eyes
the newspaper accounts of the Tirah campaign. The two
divisions had plunged into the mountains, and ultimately
after much fighting and casualties in those days thought
numerous, had reached the central plain or basin of Tirah.
The next move was for them to come back before the worst
of the winter had set in. This they did promptly, but none
too soon. The indignant and now triumphant Afridis ran
along the mountain ridges firing with deadly skill upon the
long columns defiling painfully down the river bed, and
forced to ford its freezing waters 10 to 12 times in every
march. Hundreds of soldiers and thousands of animals were
shot, and the retreat of the 2nd Division down the Bara
valley was ragged in the extreme. Indeed at times, so we
heard privately, it looked more like a rout than the vic
torious withdrawal of a punitive force. There was no doubt
who had the punishment, nor who would have to pay
the bill. Thirty-five thousand troops hunting, and being
hunted by, Afridis around these gorges for a couple of
months with 2O,OOO more guarding their communications
make a nasty total when computed in rupees. Black were the
brows of the wiseacres of Calcutta, and loud were the com
plaints of the Liberal Opposition at home.

I did not cry myself to sleep about the misadventures
of the Tirah expedition. After all, they had been very
selfish in not letting me come with them. I thought they
would have to go in again in the spring, and I redoubled
my efforts to join them. My mother co-operated energeti
cally from her end. In my interest she left no wire un-

A ROVING COMMISSION

pulled, no stone unturned, no cutlet uncooked. Under my
direction she had laid vigorous siege both to Lord Wolseley
and Lord Roberts. These fortresses resisted obdurately.
Lord Roberts wrote:

*I would, with the greatest pleasure, help your son, but
it would be no use my communicating with General Lock-
hart as Sir George White is all powerful, and, as he refused
to allow Winston to join General Blood's staff, after his
having previously served with that officer in the Malakand
Field Force, I feel sure he would not consent to his being
sent with the Tirah Field Force.'

*I would telegraph to Sir George White, but I am certain
that, under the circumstances, he would resent my doing

so.'

Meanwhile, I was tethered in my garrison in Bangalore.
At Christmas, however, it was easy to obtain ten days' leave.
Ten days is not long. It was, in fact, long enough to reach
the frontier and return. But I knew better than to present
myself at the base headquarters of the field force without
having prepared the ground beforehand. The military pussy
cat is a delightful animal, as long as you know how to keep
clear of her claws, but once excited or irritated, she is capable
of making herself extremely unpleasant. Moreover, if she
falls into this mood, it is very difficult to get her out of it.
I decided therefore to go not to the frontier, but to Cal
cutta, and to endeavour from the seat of the Indian Govern
ment to negotiate for a situation at the front. It took at
thai time three and a half days' continuous railway travelling
to go from Bangalore to Calcutta, which, with an equal
period for return, left about sixty hours to transact the all-
business. The Viceroy, Lord Elgin, under whom
a^rwards to serve as Under-Secretary of State in the
ColoteM Office, extended a large hospitality to young officers
who Md ismfebie introductions* I was royally entertained,

152

LADY RANDOLPH CHURCHILL
From a drawing by Sargent '

THE TIRAH EXPEDITION

and so well mounted that I won the fortnightly 'point to
point5 in which the garrison of Calcutta were wont at that
time to engage. This was all very well, but my main business
made no advance. I had, of course, used every resource at
my disposal before I came on the spot, and I took the best
advice of the highest authorities to whom I had access. They
all agreed that the best chance was to beard the Adjutant-
General, an extremely disagreeable person whose name I
am glad to have forgotten. He could do it if he chose, and no
one else could do it if he objected. Accordingly, I presented
myself in his ante-room and applied for an interview. He
declined point-blank to receive me, and I then began to real
ise that my quest was hopeless. There was an air of ironical
amusement about the high military functionaries whom I
met during these two days at lunch and dinner. They all
knew what I had come about and what reception my suit
would receive. From the Commander-in-Chief Sir George
White downwards they were all extremely civil, but their
friendliness seemed to carry with it a suggestion that there
were some subjects better left unmentioned. And so at the end
of my sixty hours I had again to clamber into the train and
toil back discomfited to Bangalore.

During this winter I wrote my first book. I learned from
England that my letters to the Daily Telegraph had been
well received. Although written anonymously 'From a
Young Officer,' they had attracted attention. The Pioneer
too was complimentary. Taking these letters as the foun
dation, I resolved to build a small literary house. My
friends told me that Lord Fincastle was also writing the
story of the expedition. It was a race whose book would
be finished first. I soon experienced a real pleasure in the
task of writing, and the three or four hours in the middle
of every day, often devoted to slumber or cards, saw me
industriously at work. The manuscript was finished shortly
after Christmas and sent home to my mother to sell. She
arranged for its publication by Longmans.

A ROVING COMMISSION

Having contracted the habit of writing, I embarked on
fiction. I thought I would try my hand at a novel. I found
this much quicker work than the accurate chronicle of facts.
Once started, the tale flowed on of itself. I chose as a theme
a revolt in some imaginary Balkan or South American re
public, and traced the fortunes of a liberal leader who over
threw an arbitrary Government only to be swallowed up by
a socialist revolution. My brother officers were much amused
by the story as it developed and made various suggestions
for stimulating the love interest which I was not able to
accept. But we had plenty of fighting and politics, inter
spersed with such philosophisings as I was capable of, all
leading up to the grande finale of an ironclad fleet forcing
a sort of Dardanelles to quell the rebellious capital. The
novel was finished in about two months. It was eventually
published in Macmillan's Magazine under the title of
'Savrola,3 and being subsequently reprinted in various edi
tions, yielded in all over several years about seven hundred
pounds. I have consistently urged my friends to abstain from
reading it.

Meanwhile my book-on the Frontier War had been actu
ally published.

In order not to lose two months by sending the proofs
back to India, I had entrusted their correction to an uncle of
mine, a very brilliant man and himself a ready writer. For
some reason or other he missed many scores of shocking
misprints and made no attempt to organise the punctuation.
Nevertheless The Mdakand Field Force had an immedi
ate and wide success. The reviewers, though sarcastic about
the misprints, etc., vied with each other in praise. When
the first bundle of reviews reached me together with the
volume as^ published, I was filled with pride and pleasure at
the compliments, and consternated about the blurfders. The
reader must remember I had never been praised before.
The only comments which had ever been made upon my
work at school had been 'Indifferent/ 'Untidy,' 'Slovenly,'

TCA

THE TIRAH EXPEDITION

'Very bad,' etc. Now here was the great world with
its leading literary newspapers and vigilant erudite critics,
writing whole columns of praise! In fact I should blush even
now to transcribe the glowing terms in which my 'style' was
commended. The Athenceum said 'Pages of Napier punctu
ated by a mad printer's reader.' Others were less discrimi
nating but even more complimentary. The Pioneer said
something about ca wisdom and comprehension far beyond
his years.' That was the stuff! I was thrilled. I knew that if
this would pass muster there was lots more where it came
from, and I felt a new way of making a living and of assert
ing myself, opening splendidly out before me. I saw that
even this little book had earned me in a few months two
years' pay as a subaltern. I resolved that as soon as the wars
which seemed to have begun again in several parts of the
world should be ended, and we had won the Polo Cup, I
would free myself from all discipline and authority, and set
up in perfect independence in England with nobody to give
me orders or arouse me by bell or trumpet.

One letter which I received gave me extreme pleasure,
and I print it here as it shows the extraordinary kindness and
consideration for young people which the Prince of Wales1
always practised.

MARLBOROUGH HOUSE,

MY DEAR WINSTON, April 22/98.

I cannot resist writing a few lines to congratulate you on
the success of your book! I have read it with the greatest
possible interest and I think the descriptions and the lan
guage generally excellent. Everybody is reading it, and I
only hear it spoken of with praise. Having now seen active
service you will wish to see more, and have as great a
chance I am sure of winning the V.C. as Fincastle had$ and
I hope you will not follow the example of the latter, who
I regret to say intends leaving the Army in order to go into
Parliament.

Afterwards King Edward VII.

155

A ROVING COMMISSION

You have plenty of time before you, and should certainly
stick to the Army before adding M.P. to your name.
Hoping that you are flourishing,

I am,

Yours very sincerely,

A.E.

There was no more leave for me until the regimental
polo team went north in the middle of March to play in
the Annual Cavalry Tournament. I was fortunate enough
to win a place, and in due course found myself at Meerut,
the great cantonment where these contests usually take place.
We were, I think, without doubt the second best team of
all those who competed. We were defeated by the victors,
the famous Durham Light Infantry. They were the only
infantry regiment that ever won the Cavalry Cup. They
were never beaten. All the crack regiments went down
before them. The finest native teams shared a similar fate.
All the wealth of Golconda and Rajputana, all the pride of
their Maharajahs and the skill of their splendid players,
were brushed firmly aside by these invincible foot soldiers.
No record equals theirs in the annals of Indian polo. Their
achievements were due to the brains and will-power of one
man. Captain de Lisle, afterwards distinguished at Galli-
poli and a Corps Commander on the western front, drilled,
organised, and for four years led his team to certain and
unbroken victory in all parts of India. We fell before his
prowess in this the last year of his Indian polo career.

Meerut was 1,400 miles north of Bangalore, but it was
still more than 600 miles from the front. Our leave ex
pired three days after the final match of the tournament,
and it took exactly three days in the train to return to
Bangalore. A day and a half were required on the other
baud to reach Peshawar and the front. I was by now so
desperate that I felt the time had come to run a serious
risL Colonel Ian Hamilton was at length recovered from his

156

THE TIRAH EXPEDITION

accident, and had resumed the command of his brigade on
their return from Tirah. He stood in high repute in the
army, was a close personal friend and old brother officer
of Sir George White, and on excellent terms with Sir
William Lockhart. With Ian Hamilton I had long been
in close correspondence, and he had made many efforts on
my behalf. His reports were not very encouraging. There
were many posts to be filled in the Expeditionary Force, but
all appointments were made from Calcutta and through the
Adjutant General's department. There was only one excep
tion to this, namely appointments to the personal staff of Sir
William Lockhart. I did not know Sir William Lockhart,
nor so far as I could recollect had either my father or my
mother made his acquaintance. How should I be able to
obtain access to him, still more to persuade him to give me
one of the two or three most coveted junior appointments
on his staff? Besides, his staff was already complete. On the
other hand, Colonel Ian Hamilton was in favour of my run
ning the risk. CI will do what I can,5 he wrote. 'The Com-
mander-in-Chief has an aide-de-camp of the name of Hal-
dane, who was in the Gordon Highlanders with me. He
has immense influence — in fact, they say throughout the
Army, too much. If he were well disposed towards you,
everything could be arranged. I have tried to prepare the
ground. He is not friendly to you, but neither is he hostile.
If you came up here, you might with your push and per
suasiveness pull it off.'

Such was the gist of the letter which reached me on the
morning after we had been defeated in the semi-final of
the tournament. I looked out the trains north and south.
There was obviously not time to take a day and a half's
journey northwards to Peshawar, have a few hours there,
and make the four and a half days' journey south within
the limits of my expiring leave. I was bound, in short, if
I took the northern train and failed to get an appointment
at the front, to overstay my leave by at least forty-eight

157

A ROVING COMMISSION

hours. I well knew that this was a military offence for
which I should deservedly be punished. It would have been
quite easy in ordinary circumstances to apply by telegraph
for so short an extension, but once my plan of going to
the front had been grasped by the regimental authorities,
it was not an extension I should have received, but an order
of immediate recall. In all the circumstances I decided to
take the chance, and I started for Peshawar forthwith.

In the crisp air of the early morning I sought with a
beating heart Sir William Lockhart at his headquarters, and
sent my name in to his aide-de-camp. Out came the redoubt
able Haldane, none too cordial but evidently interested and
obviously in two minds. I don't remember what I said nor
how I stated my case, but I must have hit the bull's eye
more than once. For after about half an hour's walking up
and down on the gravel-path Captain Haldane said, 'Well,
I'll go and ask the Commander-in-Chief and see what he
says.' Off he went, and I continued pacing the gravel alone.
He was not gone long. 'Sir William has decided/ he said
when he returned, 'to appoint you an extra orderly officer on
his personal staff. You will take up your duties at once. We
are communicating with the Government of India and your
regiment.'

So forthwith my situation changed in a moment from
disfavour and irregularity to commanding advantage. Red
tabs sprouted on the lapels of my coat. The Adjutant-Gen
eral published my appointment in the Gazette. Horses and
servants were dispatched by the regiment from far-off Bang
alore,^ and I became the close personal attendant of the
£aptain of the Host To the interest and pleasure of hearing
•the daily conversation of this charming and distinguished
who knew every inch of the frontier and had fought
& every war upon it for forty years, was added the oppor
tunity of Visiting every part of his army, sure always of
finding smiling faces.

For the first fortnight I behaved and was treated as be-

From a photograph by Elliott and Fry

COLONEL SIR IAN HAMILTON

THE TIRAH EXPEDITION

fitted my youth and subordinate station. I sat silent at meals
or only rarely asked a tactful question. But an incident
presently occurred which gave me quite a different footing
on Sir William Lockhart's staff. Captain Haldane used to
take me with him on his daily walk, and we soon became
intimate. He told me a good many things about the General
and the staff, about the army and the operations as viewed
from the inside, which showed me that much went on of
which I and the general public were unconscious. One day
he mentioned that a newspaper correspondent who had been
sent home to England had written an article in the Fort
nightly Review criticising severely, and as he said unfairly,
the whole conduct of the Tirah expedition. The General and
Headquarters Staff had been deeply wounded by this cruel
attack. The Chief of the Staff, General Nicholson — who
afterwards rose to the head of the British Army and was
already well known as cOld Nick' — had written a masterly,
or at least a dusty, rejoinder. This had already been dis
patched to England by the last mail.

Here at any rate I saw an opportunity of returning the
kindness with which I had been treated by giving good and
prompt advice. So I said that it would be considered most
undignified and even improper for a high officer on the
Staff of the Army in the Field to enter into newspaper con
troversy about the conduct of operations with a dismissed
war-correspondent; that I was sure the Government would
be surprised, and the War Office furious 5 that the Army
Staff were expected to leave their defence to their superiors
or to the politicians 5 and that no matter how good the argu
ments were, the mere fact of advancing them would be
everywhere taken as a sign of weakness. Captain Haldane
was much disturbed." We turned round and went home at
once. All that night there were confabulations between the
Commander-in-Chief and his staff officers. The next day I
was asked how could the article already in the post be
stopped. Ought the War Office to be told to put pressure

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upon the editor of the Fortnightly Review, and forbid him
to print it when it was received? Would he be likely to
obey such a request? I said he was presumably a gentleman,
and that if he received a cable from the author asking him
not to print the article, he would instantly comply, and
bear his disappointment as he might. A cable was accordingly
sent and received a reassuring reply. After this I began to
be taken much more into the confidential circles of the staff
and was treated as if I were quite a grown-up. Indeed I
think that I was now very favourably situated for the open
ing of the Spring Campaign, and I began to have hopes of
getting my teeth into serious affairs. The Commander-in-
Chief seemed well pleased with me and I was altogether
'in the swim.' Unhappily for me at least my good fortune
had come too late. The operations which were expected
every day to recommence on an even larger scale gradually
languished, then dissolved in prolonged negotiations with
the tribesmen, and finally resulted in a lasting peace, the
wisdom of which as a budding politician I was forced to
approve, but which had nothing to do with the business that
had brought me to Peshawar.

Thus the beaver builds his dam, and thus when his fish
ing is about to begin, comes the flood and sweeps his work
and luck and fish away together. So he has to begin again.

1 60

CHAPTER XIII
A DIFFICULTY WITH KITCHENER

THE fighting on the Indian frontier had scarcely closed
before the rumours of a new campaign in the Soudan
began to ripen into certainty. The determination of Lord
Salisbury's Government to advance to Khartoum, crush the
Dervish power and liberate these immense regions from its
withering tyranny, was openly avowed. Even while the
Tirah Expeditionary Force was being demobilised, the first
phase of the new operations began; and Sir Herbert Kitch
ener with a British and Egyptian force of about 20,000 men
had already reached the confluence of the Nile and the
Atbara, and had in a fierce action destroyed the Army of
Mahmoud, the Khalifa's lieutenant, which had been sent
to oppose him. There remained only the final phase of the
long drama of the Soudan — the advance 200 miles south
ward to the Dervish capital and the decisive battle with the
whole strength of the Dervish Empire.

I was deeply anxious to share in this.

But now I began to encounter resistances of a new and
formidable character. When I had first gone into the Army,
and wanted to go on active service, nearly everyone had
been friendly and encouraging.

... : all the world looked kind,

(As it will look sometimes with the first stare

Which Youth would not act ill to keep in mind).

The first stare was certainly over. I now perceived that
there were many ill-informed and ill-disposed people who
did not take a favourable view of my activities. On the con
trary they began to develop an adverse and even a hostile
attitude. They began to say things like this: 'Who the devil

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is this fellow? How has he managed to get to these differ
ent campaigns? Why should he write for the papers and
serve as an officer at the same time? Why should a subaltern
praise or criticise his senior officers? Why should Generals
show him favour? How does he get so much leave from his
regiment? Look at all the hard-working men who have
never stirred an inch from the daily round and common task.
We have had quite enough of this — too much indeed. He is
very young, and later on he may be all right 5 but now a long
period of discipline and routine is what 2nd Lieutenant
Churchill requires.' Others proceeded to be actually abusive,
and the expressions 'Medal-hunter' and 'Self-advertiser'
were used from time to time in some high and some low
military circles in a manner which would, I am sure, surprise
and pain the readers of these notes. It is melancholy to be
forced to record these less amiable aspects of human nature,
which by a most curious and indeed unaccountable coinci
dence have always seemed to present themselves in the wake
of my innocent footsteps, and even sometimes across the
path on which I wished to proceed.

At any rate, quite early in the process of making my
arrangements to take part in the Soudan campaign, I be
came conscious of the unconcealed disapproval and hostility
of the Sirdar of the Egyptian Army, Sir Herbert Kitchener.
My application to join that army, although favoured by the
War Office, was refused, while several other officers of my
service and rank were accepted. The enquiries which I made
through various channels made it clear to me that the re
fusal came from the highest quarter. I could not possibly
hope to overcome these ponderous obstacles from the can
tonments of Bangalore in which I lay. As I was entitled
aftdrth^Tirah Expeditionary Force had been demobilised to
a f>€rkxl of leave, I decided to proceed without delay to the
cefttrS of the Empire and argue the matter out in London.

On reaching London I mobilised whatever resources were
my reach; My mother devoted the whole of her in-
162

A DIFFICULTY WITH KITCHENER

fluence to furthering my wishes. Many were the pleasant
luncheons and dinners attended by the powers of those days
which occupied the two months of these strenuous negotia
tions. But all without avail! The obstacle to my going to
Egypt was at once too powerful and too remote to be within
her reach. She even went so far as to write personally to Sir
Herbert Kitchener, whom she knew quite well, on my ac
count. He replied with the utmost politeness that he had
already more than enough officers for the campaign, that
he was overwhelmed with applications from those who had
what would appear to be far greater claims and qualifica
tions, but that if at some future time opportunity occurred,
he would be pleased, etc., etc.

We were already at the end of June. The general advance
of the army must take place early in August. It was not a
matter of weeks but of days.

But now at this moment a quite unexpected event oc
curred. Lord Salisbury, the Prime Minister, whose political
relations with my father had not been without their tragic
aspect, happened to read The Malakand Field Force. He
appears to have been not only interested but attracted by
it. Spontaneously and cout of the blue/ he formed a wish
to make the acquaintance of its author. One morning at the
beginning of July, I received a letter from his Private Secre
tary, Sir Schomberg M'Donnell informing me that the Prime
Minister had read my book with great pleasure and would
very much like to discuss some parts of it with me. Could I
make it convenient to pay him a visit one day at the Foreign
Office? Four o'clock on the Tuesday following would be
agreeable to him, if it fell in with my arrangements. I re
plied, as the reader will readily surmise, *Will a duck swim?*
or words to that effect.

The Great Man, Master of the British world, the unchal
lenged leader of the Conservative Party, a third time Prime
Minister and Foreign Secretary at the height of his long
career, received me at the appointed hour, and I entered for

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the first time that spacious room overlooking the Horse-
guards Parade in which I was afterwards for many years
from time to time to see much grave business done in Peace
and War.

There was a tremendous air about this wise old States
man. Lord Salisbury, for all his resistance to modern ideas,
and perhaps in some way because of it, played a greater part
in gathering together the growing strength of the British
Empire for a time of trial which few could foresee and none
could measure, than any other historic figure that can be
cited. I remember well the old-world courtesy with which
he met me at the door and with a charming gesture of wel
come and salute conducted me to a seat on a small sofa in
the midst of his vast room.

CI have been keenly interested in your book. I have read
it with the greatest pleasure and, if I may say so, with ad
miration not only for its matter but for its style. The debates
in both Houses of Parliament about the Indian frontier
policy have been acrimonious, much misunderstanding has
confused them. I myself have been able to form a truer pic
ture of the kind of fighting that has been going on in these
frontier valleys from your writings than from any other
documents which it has been my duty to read.'

I thought twenty minutes would be about the limit of my
favour, which I had by no means the intention to outrun,
and I accordingly made as if to depart after that period had
expired. But he kept me for over half an hour, and when
he finally conducted me again across the wide expanse of
carpet to the door, he dismissed me in the following terms,
'I hope you will allow me to say how much you remind me
of your father, with whom such important days of my politi
cal life were lived. If there is anything at any time that I
can do which would be of assistance to you, pray do not fail
to let me know.*

When I got back to my home I pondered long and anxi
ously over this parting invitation. I did not want to put

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A DIFFICULTY WITH KITCHENER

the old Lord to trouble on my account. On the other hand,
it seemed to me that the merest indication on his part would
suffice to secure me what at that time I desired most of all
in the world. A word from the Prime Minister, his great
supporter, would surely induce Sir Herbert Kitchener to
waive his quite disproportionate opposition to my modest
desires. In after years when I myself disposed of these
matters on an enormous scale, when young men begged to
be allowed to take part in actual fighting and when the
curmudgeons of red tape interposed their veto, I used to
brush these objections aside saying, c After all they are only
asking to stop a bullet. Let them have their way.'

Accordingly, after several days' consideration I had re
course to Sir Schomberg M'Donnell whom I had seen and
met in social circles since I was a child. By then it was the
third week in July. There seemed absolutely no other way
of reaching the Atbara Army before the advance to Khar
toum began. I sought him out late one evening and found
him dressing for dinner. Would the Prime Minister send
a telegram to Sir Herbert Kitchener? The War Office had
recommended me, my regiment had given me leave, the 2ist
Lancers were quite willing to accept me, there was no other
obstacle of any sort or kind. Was it asking too much? Would
he find out tentatively how Lord Salisbury felt about it?

CI am sure he will do his best,3 he said. *He is very pleased
with you, but he won't go beyond a certain point. He may
be willing to ask the question in such a way as to indicate
what he would like the answer to be. You must not expect
him to press it, if the answer is unfavourable/ 1 said I would
be quite content with this.

'I'll do it at once,' said this gallant man, who was such an
invaluable confidant and stand-by to Lord Salisbury during
his long reign, and who in after years, at a very advanced
age, insisted on proceeding to the trenches of the Great War,
and was almost immediately killed by a shrapnel shell.

Off he went, discarding his dinner party, in search of his

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Chief. Before darkness closed a telegram had gone to the
Sirdar to the effect that while of course Lord Salisbury
would not think of interfering with the Sirdar's wishes or
discretion in the matter of subordinate appointments, he
would be greatly pleased on personal grounds if my wish to
take part in the impending operations could without disad
vantage to the public service be acceded to. Swiftly, by re
turn wire, came the answer: Sir Herbert Kitchener had
already all the Officers he required, and if any vacancies
occurred, there were others whom he would be bound to
prefer before the young officer in question.

This sour intimation was in due course conveyed to me.
If I had been found wanting at this moment in perseverance,
I should certainly never have shared in the stirring episodes
of the Battle of Omdurman. But in the interval a piece of
information had come into my possession which opened up
the prospect of one last effort.

Sir Francis Jeune, one of our most eminent Judges, had
always been a friend of my family. His wife, now Lady
St. Helier, moved much in military circles, and frequently
met Sir Evelyn Wood, the Adjutant-General. Her subse
quent work on the London County Council may be taken
as the measure of the abilities which she employed and the
influence which she exercised on men and affairs. She told
me that Sir Evelyn Wood had expressed the opinion in her
hearing at a dinner table that Sir Herbert Kitchener was
going too far in picking and choosing between particular
officers recommended by the War Office, and that he, for
his part, was not at all disposed to see the War Office com
pletely set aside by the Commander in the Field of what
was after all a very small part of the British Army. The
Egyptian Army no doubt was a sphere within which the
Sirdar's wishes must be absolute, but the British .contingent
(of ^an Infantry Division, a Brigade of Artillery an4 a
British Cavalry regiment, the 2ist Lancers) was 9, part of
the Expeditionary Force, the internal composition of which

1 66

A DIFFICULTY WITH KITCHENER

rested exclusively with the War Office. She told me indeed
that Sir Evelyn Wood had evinced considerable feeling upon
this subject. Then I said 'Have you told him that the Prime
Minister has telegraphed personally on my behalf?5 She said
she had not. 'Do so,' I said, 'and let us see whether he will
stand up for his prerogatives.'

Two days later I received the following laconic intima
tion from the War Office.

'You have been attached as a supernumerary Lieutenant
to the 2 ist Lancers for the Soudan Campaign. You are to
report at once at the Abassiyeh Barracks, Cairo, to the Regi
mental Headquarters. It is understood that you will pro
ceed at your own expense and that in the event of your
being killed or wounded in the impending operations, or
for any other reason, no charge of any kind will fall on
British Army funds.'

Oliver Borthwick, son of the proprietor of the Morning
Post and most influential in the conduct of the paper, was
a contemporary and a great friend of mine. Feeling the
force of Napoleon's maxim that 'war should support war',
I arranged that night with Oliver that I should write as
opportunity served a series of letters to the Morning Post
at £15 a column. The President of the Psychical Research
Society extracted rather unseasonably a promise from me
after dinner to 'communicate' with him, should anything
unfortunate occur. I caught the u o'clock train for Mar
seilles the next morning. My mother waved me off in gal
lant style. Six days later I was in Cairo.

All was excitement and hustle at Abassiyeh Barracks. Two
squadrons of the 2ist Lancers had already started up the
Nile. The other two were to leave the next morning. Alto
gether seven additional officers from other cavalry regiments
had been attached to the 2ist to bring them up to full war-
strength. These officers were distributed in command of

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troops about the various squadrons. A troop had been re
served for me in one of the leading squadrons. But the delay
and uncertainty about my coming had given this to another.
Second-Lieutenant Robert Grenfell had succeeded in ob
taining this vacancy. He had gone off in the highest spirits.
At the base everyone believed that we should be too late for
the battle. Perhaps the first two squadrons might get up in
time, but no one could tell. 'Fancy how lucky I am,' wrote
Grenfell to his family. 'Here I have got the troop that
would have been Winston's, and we are to be the first to
start.' Chance is unceasingly at work in our lives, but we
cannot always see its workings sharply and clearly defined.
As it turned out, this troop was practically cut to pieces in
the charge which the regiment made in the battle of Septem
ber 2, and its brave young leader was killed. He was the
first of that noble line of Grenfells to give his life in the
wars of the Empire. Two of his younger brothers were
killed in the Great War, one after gaining the Victoria
Cross; and his own ardent spirit was the equal of theirs.

The movement of the regiment 1,400 miles into the heart
of Africa was effected with the swiftness, smoothness and
punctuality which in those days characterised all Kitchener's
arrangements. We were transported by train to Assiout$
thence by stern-wheeled steamers to Assouan. We led our
horses round the cataract at Philse; re-embarked on other
steamers at Shellalj voyaged four days to Wady Half a j and
from there proceeded 400 miles across the desert by the
marvellous military railway whose completion had sealed
the fate of the Dervish power. In exactly a fortnight from
leaving Cairo we arrived in the camp and railway base of
the army, where the waters of the Atbara flow into the
mighty Nile.

The journey was delightful. The excellent arrangements
made for our comfort and convenience, the cheery company,
the novel and vivid scenery which streamed past, the excite
ment and thoughtless gaiety with which everyone looked

168

A DIFFICULTY WITH KITCHENER

forward to the certainly-approaching battle and to the part
that would be played in it by the only British cavalry regi
ment with the army — all combined to make the experience
pleasant. But I was pursued and haunted by a profound,
unrelenting fear. I had not heard a word in Cairo of how
Sir Herbert Kitchener had received the over-riding by the
War Office of his wishes upon my appointment. I imagined
telegrams of protest on his part to the War Office which
would indeed put their resolution to the proof. Exaggerat
ing, as one's anxious mind is prone to do, I pictured the
Adjutant-General seriously perturbed in Whitehall by the
stern remonstrance, or perhaps even obstinate resistance, of
the almost all-powerful Commander-in-Chief. I expected
every moment an order of recall. Besides, I was now under
the Sirdar's command. Nothing would be easier than for
him to utter the words, 'Send him back to the base^ let him
come on with the remounts after the battle'; or a score of
equally detestable combinations. Every time the train drew
up at a station, every time the stern-wheeled steamers pad
dled their way to a landing-stage, I scanned the crowd with
hunted eyes 5 and whenever the insignia of a Staff Officer
were visible, I concluded at once that the worst had over
taken me. I suppose a criminal flying from justice goes
through the same emotions at every stopping-point. Thank
God, there was no wireless in those days or I should never
have had a moment's peace. One could not, of course, escape
the ordinary telegraph. Its long coils wrapped one round
even then. But at least there were interludes of four or five
days when we plashed our way peacefully forward up the
great river out of all connection with the uncharitable world.
However, as the stages of the journey succeeded one
another without any catastrophe, Hope began to grow
stronger in my breast. By the time we reached Wady Haifa
I had begun to reason with myself in a more confident mood.
Surely on the eve of his most critical and decisive battle,
laden with all the immensely complicated business of a con-

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A ROVING COMMISSION

centration and advance the smallest details of which, as is
well known, he personally supervised, the Sirdar might find
something else to occupy his mind and forget to put a spoke
in the wheel of an unfortunate subaltern. Perhaps he might
not have time or patience to wrangle with the War Office
in cipher telegrams. He might forget. Best of all, he might
not even have been told! And when on the evening of
August 14 we ferried ourselves across from the Atbara camp
to the left of the Nile, preparatory to beginning our 200
mile march to the Dervish capital, I felt entitled like Agag
to believe that cthe bitterness of death was past.*

My efforts were not after all to miscarry. Sir Herbert
Kitchener, as I afterwards learned, confronted with my
appointment by the War Office, had simply shrugged his
shoulders and passed on to what were after all matters of
greater concern.

170

CHAPTER XIV
THE EVE OF OMDURMAN

NOTHING like the Battle of Omdurman will ever be seen
again. It was the last link in the long chain of those
spectacular conflicts whose vivid and majestic splendour has
done so much to invest war with glamour. Everything was
visible to the naked eye. The armies marched and manoeu
vred on the crisp surface of the desert plain through which
the Nile wandered in broad reaches, now steel, now brass*
Cavalry charged at full gallop in close order, and infantry
or spearmen stood upright ranged in lines or masses to re
sist them. From the rocky hills which here and there flanked
the great river the whole scene lay revealed in minute detail,
curiously twisted, blurred and interspersed with phantom
waters by the mirage. The finite and concrete presented it
self in the most keenly-chiselled forms, and then dissolved
in a shimmer of unreality and illusion. Long streaks of
gleaming water, where we knew there was only desert, cut
across the knees or the waists of marching troops. Batteries
of artillery or long columns of cavalry emerged from a
filmy world of uneven crystal on to the hard yellow-ochre
sand, and took up their positions amid jagged red-black
rocks with violet shadows. Over all the immense dome of
the sky, dun to turquoise, turquoise to deepest blue, pierced
by the flaming sun, weighed hard and heavy on marching
necks and shoulders.

The 2 ist Lancers, having crossed to the left bank of
the Nile at its confluence with the Atbara in the evening
of August 15, journeyed forward by nine days' march to
the advanced concentration camp just north of the Shab-
luka Cataract. This feature is peculiar. Across the 4,000-
mile course of the Nile to the Mediterranean, Nature has

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here flung a high wall of rock. The river, instead of making
a ten-mile detour round its western extremity, has pre
ferred a frontal attack, and has pierced or discovered a
way through the very centre of the obstructing mass. The
Shabluka position was considered to be formidable. It was
impossible to ascend the cataract in boats and steamers in
any force that would be effective, unless the whole range of
hills had first been turned from the desert flank. Such an
operation would have presented a fine tactical opportunity
to a Dervish army crouched behind the Shabluka hills ready
to strike at the flank of any army making the indispensable
turning movement. It was therefore no doubt with great
relief that Sir Herbert Kitchener received from his cavalry,
his scouts and his spies, the assurance that this strong posi
tion was left undefended by the enemy.

Nevertheless, all the precautions of war were observed in
making the critical march through the desert round the end
of the hills. All the mounted forces made a wide circling
movement. For us, although we were only on the inner
flank, the distance was perhaps 25 miles from our morning
watering-place on the Nile bank north of the Shabluka to
where we reached the river again at the evening bivouac on
the southern and Omdurman side of the barrier. Those of
us who, like my troop, composed the advance patrols, ex
pected as we filtered through the thorn scrub to find ene
mies behind every bush, and we strained our ears and eyes
and waited at every instant the first clatter of musketry.
But except for a few fleeting horsemen, no hostile sight or
sound disturbed or even diversified our march, and when
the vast plain reddened in the sunset, we followed our
lengthening shadows peacefully but thirstily again to the
sweet waters of the river. Meanwhile the flat-bottomed
gunboats and stern-wheel steamers, drawing endless tows of
sailing boats carrying our supplies, had safely negotiated the
cataract, and by the 27th all our forces, desert and river,
were concentrated South of the Shabluka hills with only

172

THE EVE OF OMDURMAN

five clear marches over open plain to the city of our quest.

On the 28th the army set forth on its final advance. We
moved in full order of battle and by stages of only eight or
ten miles a day so as to save all our strength for the collision
at any moment. We carried nothing with us but what we
and our horses stood up in. We drew our water and food
each night from the Nile and its armada. The heat in this
part of Africa and at this time of the year was intense. In
spite of thick clothes, spine-pads, broad-brimmed pitch hel
mets, one felt the sun leaning down upon one and pierc
ing our bodies with his burning rays. The canvas water-bags
which hung from our saddles, agreeably cool from their
own evaporation, were drained long before the afternoons
had worn away. How delicious it was in the evenings when,
the infantry having reached and ordered their bivouac, the
cavalry screen was withdrawn, and we filed down in gold
and purple twilight to drink and drink and drink again from
the swift abundant Nile.

Of course by this time everyone in the British cavalry had
made up his mind that there was to be no battle. Was it
not all humbug? Did the Dervishes exist, or were they just
myths created by the Sirdar and his Anglo-Egyptian entour
age? The better-informed held that, while there were no
doubt a lot of Dervishes gathered at Omdurman, they had
all decided to avoid battle and were already streaming off
hundreds of miles along the roads to distant Kordofan.
*We shall be marching like this towards the Equator for
months and months.' Well, never mind. It was a pleasant
occupation, a jolly life 5 health was good, exercise exhilarat
ing, food sufficient, and at dawn and dusk — at least — water
unlimited. We were seeing a new land all the time, and
perhaps after all some day we might see something else.
But when I dined on the night of the 3ist in the mess of the
British officers of a Soudanese battalion, I found a different
opinion. 'They are all there/ said these men, who had
.been fighting the Dervishes for ten years. They would cer-

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tainly *put up a battle5 for the capital of their Empire.
They weren't the sort to run. We should find them drawn
up outside the dtyj and the city was now only 18 miles
away.

Our march of September I began like all the others in
perfect calm, but towards nine o'clock our patrols began to
see things. Reports trickled back through troops to squad
rons of white patches and gleams of light amid the mirage
glitter which shrouded the southern horizon. The squadron
to which I belonged was that day employed only in support
of the advanced screen, and we rode slowly forward with
suppressed and growing excitement. At about half-past ten
we topped a broad swell of sand and saw before us, scarcely
a mile away, all our advanced patrols and parties halted
in a long line, observing something which lay apparently
immediately across their path. Soon we also were ordered
to halt, and presently a friendly subaltern who had been
on patrol came along with what to us was momentous and
decisive news. 'Enemy in sight/ he said, beaming. c Where?'
we asked. 'There, can't you see? Look at that long brown
smear. That's them. They haven't bolted,' and he went on
his way. We had all noticed this dark discoloration of the
distant horizon, but had taken it to be a forest of thorn-
bushes. The best field-glasses failed to disclose any other
impression from the point where we were halted. Then came
the regimental-sergeant-major, also coming back from the
outpost line.

cHow many are there?' we asked.

CA good army,' he replied. 'Quite a good army,' and he
too went on his way.

Next came an order for the support to send a subaltern
whose horse was not exhausted up to the Colonel in the out
post line.

n Churchill/ said my squadron leader, and off I
trotted.

There was a shallow dip followed by another rise of

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THE EVE OF OMDURMAN

ground before I found Colonel Martin in the outpost line
near some sandhills.1

'Good morning/ he said. 'The enemy has just begun to
advance. They are coming on pretty fast. I want you to
see the situation for yourself, and then go back as quickly as
you can without knocking up your horse, and report person
ally to the Sirdar. You will find him marching with the
infantry.'

So I was to meet Kitchener after all! Would he be sur
prised to see me? Would he be angry? Would he say 'What
the devil are you doing here? I thought I told you not to
come.' Would he be disdainfully indifferent? Or would he
merely receive the report without troubling to inquire the
name of the officer who brought it? Anyhow, one could not
have a better reason of service for accosting the great man
than the news that a hostile army was advancing against him.
The prospect interested and excited me as much as the ap
proaching battle, and the possibilities in the rear seemed in
no way less interesting, and in some respects not less for
midable, than the enemy on our front.

Having thoroughly observed the enemy and been told all
that there was to tell in the outpost line, I started to trot and
* canter across the six miles of desert which separated the ad
vanced cavalry from the main body of the army. The heat
was scorching, and as I thought it almost certain we should
be fighting on horseback all the afternoon, I took as much
care of my horse as the urgency of my orders allowed. In
consequence nearly forty minutes had passed before I began
to approach the mass of the infantry. I paused for a moment
to rest my horse and survey the scene from the spur of a
black rocky hill which gave a general view. The sight was
truly magnificent. The British and Egyptian army was ad
vancing in battle array. Five solid brigades of three or four
infantry battalions each, marching in open columns, eche
loned back from the Nile. Behind these great blocks of men

^ee map on page 195.

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followed long rows of artillery, and beyond these there
trailed out interminable strings of camels carrying supplies.
On the river abreast of the leading brigade moved masses of
heavily-laden sailing-boats towed by a score of stern-wheel
steamers, and from this mass there emerged gleaming grimly
seven or eight large white gunboats ready for action. On the
desert flank and towards the enemy a dozen squadrons "of
Egyptian cavalry at wide intervals could be seen supporting
the outpost line, and still further inland the grey and choco
late columns of the Camel Corps completed the spacious
panorama.

Having breathed my horse, for I did not wish to arrive in
a flurry, I rode towards the centre of the infantry masses.
Soon I saw at their head a considerable cavalcade following
a bright red banner. Drawing nearer I saw the Union Jack
by the side of the Egyptian flag. Kitchener was riding alone
two or three horses5 lengths in front of his Headquarters
Staff. His two standard-bearers marched immediately behind
him, and the principal officers of the Anglo-Egyptian army
staff followed in his train exactly as one would expect from
the picture-books.

I approached at an angle, made a half circle, drew my
horse alongside and slightly in rear of him, and saluted. It'
was the first time I had ever looked upon that remarkable
countenance, already well known, afterwards and probably
for generations to be familiar to the whole world. He turned
his grave face upon me. The heavy moustaches, the queer
rolling look of the eyes, the sunburnt and almost purple
cheeks and jowl made a vivid manifestation upon the senses.

'Sir/ I said, CI have come from the 2ist Lancers with a
report/ He made a slight nod as a signal for me to continue.
I described the situation in terms which I had studied on my
ride to make as compendious as possible. The enemy were in
sight, apparently in large numbers 5 their main body lay
about seven miles away and almost directly between our
present position and the city of Omdurman. Up to 1 1 o'clock

176

THE EVE OF OMDURMAN

they had remained stationary, but at five minutes past eleven
they were seen to be in motion, and when I left forty min
utes before they were still advancing rapidly.

He listened in absolute silence to every word, our horses
crunching the sand as we rode forward side by side. Then,
after a considerable pause, he said, 'You say the Dervish
Army is advancing. How long do you think I have got?3
My answer came out in a flash: 'You have got at least an
kour — probably an hour and a half, sir, even if they come
on at their present rate.' He tossed his head in a way that left
me in doubt whether he accepted or rejected this estimate,
and then with a slight bow signified that my mission was dis
charged. I saluted, reined my horse in, and let his retinue
flow past.

I began to calculate speeds and distances rather anxiously
in order to see whether my precipitate answer conformed to
reason. In the result I was pretty sure I was not far out.
Taking four miles an hour as the maximum rate at which
the Dervish jog-trot could cover what I judged to be
seven miles, an hour and a half was a safe and sure margin.

These meditations were broken in upon by a friendly
voice. 'Come along with us and have some lunch.' It was
an officer on the Staff of Sir Reginald Wingate, the Direc
tor of the Intelligence of the army. He presented me to his
Chief, who received me kindly. I need scarcely say that a
square meal, a friend at court, and the prospect of getting
the best information on coming events, were triply agree
able. Meanwhile I saw that the infantry everywhere were
forming into lines making an arc against the Nile, and
that in front of the leading brigade thorn-bushes were
being busily cut down and fastened into a zeriba. Then
right in our path appeared a low wall of biscuit boxes which
was being rapidly constructed, ,and on the top of this wall I
perceived a long stretch of white oil-cloth on which again
were being placed many bottles of inviting appearance and
large dishes of bully beef and mixed pickles. This grateful

177

A ROVING COMMISSION

sight arising as if by enchantment in the wilderness on the
verge of battle filled my heart with a degree of thankfulness
far exceeding what one usually experiences when regular
Grace is said.

Everybody dismounted, orderlies surged up to lead away
the horses. As this repast came into view, I lost sight of
Kitchener. He seemed to have withdrawn a little from the
Staff. Whether he lunched on a separate pile of biscuit boxes
all to himself or whether he had no luncheon at all, I
neither knew nor cared. I attacked the bully beef and cool
drink with concentrated attention. Everyone was in the high
est spirits and the best of tempers. It was like a race lunch
eon before the Derby. I remember that I found myself next
to the representative of the German General Staff — Baron
von Tiedemann. 'This is the ist of September/ he said. 'Our
great day and now your great day: Sedan and Soudan.'
He was greatly pleased with this and repeated it several
times to the company, some of whom thought they detected
sarcasm. 'Is there really going to be a battle?5 I asked
General Wingate. 'Certainly, rather,5 he replied. 'When?5
I said, 'to-morrow?5 'No,' he said, 'here, now, in an hour
or two.5 It really was a good moment to live, and I, a poor
subaltern who had thought himself under a ban, plied my
knife and fork with determination amid the infectious gaiety
of all these military magnates.

All the time one could see the lines of the Infantry being
rapidly marshalled, and the thorn fences growing in front
of them from minute to minute. Before us the bare sand
plain swept gently up from the river to a crescent rise
beyond which were our cavalry outposts and, presumably,
the steadily advancing foe. In an hour that arena would
swarm with charging Dervishes, and be heaped with dead,
while the lines of infantry behind the thorn zeriba blazed
their rifle-fire and all the cannon boomed. Of course we
should win, Of course we should mow them down. Still,
nevertheless, these same Dervishes, in spite of all the pre-

178

THE EVE OF OMDTJRMAN

cision of modern weapons, had more than once as at Abu
Klea and Tamai broken British squares, and again and again
had pierced through or overwhelmed fronts held only by
Egyptian troops. I pictured on the plain, in my imagina
tion, several possible variants of the battle that seemed so
imminent and so near 5 and then, as if to proclaim its open
ing — Bang, Bang, Bang, went the howitzer battery firing
from an island upon the Mahdi's tomb in Omdurman.

However, there was to be no battle on September I. I
had scarcely rejoined my squadron in the outpost line when
the Dervish army came to a standstill, and after giving a
tremendous feu de joie seemed to settle down for the night.
We watched them all the afternoon and evening, and our
patrols skirmished and scampered about with theirs. It was
not until the light faded that we returned to the Nile
and were ordered to tuck away our men and horses within
the zeriba under the steep bank of the river.

In this sheltered but helpless posture we were informed
that trustworthy news had been received that the enemy
would attack by night. The most severe penalties were de
nounced against anyone who in any circumstances whatever
— even to save his life — fired a shot from pistol or carbine
inside the perimeter of the thorn fence. If the Dervishes
broke the line and penetrated the camp, we were to defend
ourselves by fighting on foot with our lances or swords.
We reassured ourselves by the fact that the ist Battalion
of the Grenadiers and a battalion of the Rifle Brigade oc
cupied the line of the zeriba 100 yards away and immedi
ately above us. Confiding our safety to these fine troops, we
addressed ourselves to preparations for dinner.

In this domain a happy experience befell me. As I strolled
in company with a brother officer along the river bank we
were hailed from the gunboats which lay 20 or 30 feet
from the shore. The vessel was commanded by a junior
naval Lieutenant named Beatty who had long served in the
Nile flotillas, and was destined to fame on blue water. The

179

A ROVING COMMISSION

gunboat officers, spotlessly attired in white uniforms, were
eager to learn what the cavalry had seen, and we were by no
means unwilling to tell. We had a jolly talk across the
stretch of water while the sun sank. They were particularly
pleased to learn of the orders against the use of firearms
inside the zeriba, and made many lugubrious jokes at our
expense. This included offering us hospitality on the gun
boat if the worst came to the worst. We put the suggestion
aside with dignity and expressed our confidence in the plan
of using cavalry swords and lances on foot amid the sand
dunes against a Dervish mob in pitch darkness. After a
good deal of chaff came the piece of good fortune.

'How are you off for drinks? We have got everything
in the world on board here. Can you catch?' and almost
immediately a large bottle of champagne was thrown from
the gunboat to the shore. It fell in the waters of the Nile,
but happily where a gracious Providence decreed them to
be shallow and the bottom soft. I nipped into the water
up to my knees, and reaching down seized the precious gift
which we bore in triumph back to our mess.

This kind of war was full of fascinating thrills. It was
not like the Great War. Nobody expected to be killed. Here
and there in every regiment or battalion, half a dozen, a
score, at the worst thirty or forty, would pay the forfeit 5
but to the great mass of those who took part in the little
wars of Britain in those vanished light-hearted days, this
was only a sporting element in a splendid game. Most of
us were fated to see a war where the hazards were reversed,
where death was the general expectation and severe wounds
were counted as lucky escapes, where whole brigades were
shorn away under the steel flail of artillery and machine-
guns, where the survivors of one tornado knew that they
would certainly be consumed in the next or the next after
that.

Everything depends upon the scale of events. We young
men who lay down to sleep that night within three miles of

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THE EVE OF OMDURMAN

60,000 well-armed fanatical Dervishes, expecting every mo
ment their violent onset or inrush and sure of fighting at
latest with the dawn — we may perhaps be pardoned if we
thought we were at grips with real war.

181

CHAPTER XV
THE SENSATIONS OF A CAVALRY CHARGE

EING before the dawn we were astir, and by five o'clock
the 2ist Lancers were drawn up mounted outside the
zeriba. My squadron-leader Major Finn, an Australian by
birth, had promised me some days before that he would give
me *a show' when the time came. I was afraid that he
would count my mission to Lord Kitchener the day before
as quittance 5 but I was now called out from my troop to
advance with a patrol and reconnoitre the ridge between the
rocky peak of Jebel Surgham and the river. Other patrols
from our squadron and from the Egyptian cavalry were also
sent hurrying forward in the darkness. I took six men and
a corporal. We trotted fast over the plain and soon began
to breast the unknown slopes of the ridge. There is nothing
like the dawn* The quarter of an hour before the curtain
is lifted upon an unknowable situation is an intense experi
ence of war. Was the ridge held by the enemy or not? Were
we riding through the gloom into thousands of ferocious
savages? Every step might be deadly; yet there was "no time
for overmuch precaution. The regiment was coming on
behind us, and dawn was breaking. It was already half light
as we climbed the slope. What should we find at the sum
mit? For cool, tense excitement I commend such moments.
Now we are near the top of the ridge. I make one man
follow a hundred yards behind, so that whatever happens,
he may tell the tale. There is no sound but our own clatter.
We have reached the crest line. We rein in our horses.
Every minute the horizon extends 5 we can already see 200
yards. Now we can see perhaps a quarter of a mile. All is
qoietf no life but our own breathes among the rocks and
sand hummocks of the ridge. No ambuscade, no occupation

182

THE SENSATIONS OF A CAVALRY CHARGE

in force! The farther plain is bare below us: we can now
see more than half a mile.

So they have all decamped! Just what we said! All
bolted off to Kordofanj no battle! But wait! The dawn
is growing fast. Veil after veil is lifted from the landscape.
What is this shimmering in the distant plain? Nay — it is
lighter now — what are these dark markings beneath the
shimmer? They are there! These enormous black smears
are thousands of men $ the shimmering is the glinting of
their weapons. It is now daylight. I slip off my horsey I
write in my field service notebook 'The Dervish army is
still in position a mile and a half south-west of Jebel Surg-
ham.' I send this message by the corporal direct as ordered
to the Commander-in-Chief . I mark it XXX. In the words
of the drill book *with all despatch' or as one would say *Hell
for leather.*

A glorious sunrise is taking place behind us 5 but we are
admiring something else. It is already light enough to use
field-glasses. The dark masses are changing their values.
They are already becoming lighter than the plain 5 they
are fawn-coloured. Now they are a kind of white, while the
plain is dun. In front of us is a vast array four or five miles
long. It fills the horizon till it is blocked out on our right
by the serrated silhouette of Surgham Peak. This is an hour
to live. We mount again, and suddenly new impressions
strike the eye and mind. These masses are not stationary.
They are advancing, and they are advancing fast A tide is
coming in. But what is this sound which we hear: a dead
ened roar coming up to us in waves? They are cheering for
God, his Prophet and his holy Khalifa. They think they are
going to win. We shall see about that presently. Still I
must admit that we check our horses and hang upon the
crest of the ridge for a few moments before advancing down
its slopes.

But now it is broad morning and the slanting sun adds
brilliant colour to the scene. The masses have defined them-

183

A ROVING COMMISSION

selves into swarms of men, in ordered ranks bright with
glittering weapons, and above them dance a multitude of
gorgeous flags. We see for ourselves what the Crusaders
saw. We must see more of it. I trot briskly forward to some
where near the sandhills where the 2ist Lancers had halted
the day before. Here we are scarcely 400 yards away from
the great masses. We halt again and I make four troopers
fire upon them, while the other two hold their horses. The
enemy come on like the sea. A crackle of musketry breaks
out on our front and to our left. Dust spurts rise among the
sandhills. This is no place for Christians. We scamper off;
and luckily no man nor horse is hurt. We climb back on to the
ridge, and almost at this moment there returns the corporal
on a panting horse. He comes direct from Kitchener with
an order signed by the Chief of Staff. 'Remain as long as
possible, and report how the masses of attack are moving/
Talk of Fun! Where will you beat this! On horseback, at
daybreak, within shot of an advancing army, seeing every
thing, and corresponding direct with Headquarters.

So we remained on the ridge for nearly half an hour and
I watched close up a scene which few have witnessed. All
the masses except one passed for a time out of our view
beyond the peak of Surgham on our right. But one, a divi
sion of certainly 6,ooo men moved directly over the shoul
der of the ridge. Already they were climbing its forward
slopes. From where we sat on our hordes we could see both
sides. There was dur army ranked and massed by the river.
There were the gunboats lying expectant in the stream.
There were all the batteries ready to open. And meanwhile
on the other side, this large oblong gay-coloured crowd in
fairly good order climbed swiftly up to the crest of ex
posure. We were about 2,500 yards from our own batteries,
"bit little more than 200 from their approaching target. I
called these Dervishes 'The White Flags/ They reminded
me of the armies in the Bayeux tapestries, because of their
raws of white and yellow standards held upright. Mean-

184

THE SENSATIONS OF A CAVALRY CHARGE

while the Dervish centre far out in the plain had come
within range, and one after another the British and Egyptian
batteries opened upon it. My eyes were rivetted by a nearer
scene. At the top of the hill 'The White Flags' paused to
rearrange their ranks and drew out a broad and solid parade
along the crest. Then the cannonade turned upon them. Two
or three batteries and all the gunboats, at least thirty guns,
opened an intense fire. Their shells shrieked towards us and
burst in scores over the heads and among the masses of the
White Flag-men. We were so close, as we sat spellbound
on our horses, that we almost shared their perils. I saw the
full blast of Death strike this human wall. Down went their
standards by dozens and their men by hundreds. Wide gaps
and shapeless heaps appeared in their array. One saw them
jumping and tumbling under the shrapnel bursts ; but none
turned back. Line after line they all streamed over the
shoulder and advanced towards our zeriba, opening a heavy
rifle fire which wreathed them in smoke.

Hitherto no one had taken any notice of us 5 but I now
saw Baggara horsemen in twos and threes riding across the
plain on our left towards the ridge. One of these patrols of
three men came within pistol range. They were dark, cowled
figures, like monks on horseback — ugly, sinister brutes with
long spears. I fired a few shots at them from the saddle, and
they sheered off. I did not see why we should not stop out
on this ridge during the assault. I thought we could edge
back towards the Nile and so watch both sides while keep
ing out of harm's way. But now arrived a positive order
from Major Finn, whom I had perforce left out of my
correspondence with the Commander-in-Chief , saying 'Come
back at once into the zeriba as the infantry are about to open
fire.5 We should in fact have been safer on the ridge, for
we only just got into the infantry lines before the rifle-storm
began.

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A ROVING COMMISSION

It is not my purpose in this record of personal impres
sions to give a general account of the Battle of Omdur-
man. The story has been told -so often and in such exact
military detail that everyone who is interested in the subject
is no doubt well acquainted with what took place. I shall
only summarise the course of the battle so far as may be
necessary to explain my own experiences.

The whole of the Khalifa's army, nearly 60,000 strong,
advanced in battle order from their encampment of the
night before, topped the swell of ground which hid the
two armies from one another, and then rolled down the
gently-sloping amphitheatre in the arena of which, backed
upon the Nile, Kitchener's 20,000 troops were drawn up
shoulder to shoulder to receive them. Ancient and modern
confronted one another. The weapons, the methods and the
fanaticism of the Middle Ages were brought by an extraordi
nary anachronism into dire collision with the organisation
and inventions of the nineteenth century. The result was not
surprising. As the successors of the Saracens descended the
long smooth slopes which led to the river and their enemy,
they encountered the rifle fire of two and a half divisions
of trained infantry, drawn up two deep and in close order
and supported by at least 70 guns on the river bank and in
the gunboats, all firing with undisturbed efficiency. Under
this fire the whole attack withered and came to a standstill,
with a loss of perhaps six or seven thousand men, at least
700 yards away from the British-Egyptian line. The Der
vish army, however, possessed nearly 20,000 rifles of vari
ous kinds, from the most antiquated to the most modern,
and when the spearmen could get no farther, these riflemen
lay down on the plain and began a ragged, unaimed but con
siderable fusillade at the dark line of the thorn-fence zeriba.
Now for the first time they began to inflict losses on their
antagonists, and in the short space that this lasted perhaps
two hundred casualties occurred among the British and
Egyptian troops.

THE SENSATIONS OF A CAVALRY CHARGE

Seeing that the attack had been repulsed with great
slaughter and that he was nearer to the city of Omdurman
than the Dervish army, Kitchener immediately wheeled his
five brigades into his usual echelon formation, and with his
left flank on the river proceeded to march south towards the
city, intending thereby to cut off what he considered to be
the remnants of the Dervish army from their capital, their
base, their food, their water, their home, and to drive them
out into the vast deserts which stared on every side. But the
Dervishes were by no means defeated. The whole of their
left, having overshot the mark, had not even been under
fire. The Khalifa's reserve of perhaps 15,000 men was still
intact. All these swarms now advanced with undaunted cour
age to attack the British and Egyptian forces, which were no
longer drawn up in a prepared position, but marching freely
over the desert. This second shock was far more critical
than the first. The charging Dervishes succeeded every
where in coming to within a hundred or two hundred yards
of the troops, and the rear brigade of Soudanese, attacked
from two directions, was only saved from destruction by the
skill and firmness of its commander, General Hector Mao-
donald. However, discipline and machinery triumphed over
the most desperate valour, and after an enormous carnage,
certainly exceeding 20,000 men, who strewed the ground in
heaps and swathes 'like snowdrifts/ the whole mass of the
Dervishes dissolved into fragments and into particles and
streamed away into the fantastic mirages of the desert.

The Egyptian cavalry and the camel corps had been pro
tecting the right flank of the zeriba when it was attacked,
and the 2ist Lancers were the only horsemen on the left
flank nearest to Omdurman. Immediately after the first
attack had been repulsed we were ordered to leave the
zeriba, ascertain what enemy forces, if any, stood between
Kitchener and the city, and if possible drive these forces
back and clear the way for the advancing army. Of course
as a regimental officer one knows very little of what is taking

A ROVING COMMISSION

place over the whole field of battle. We waited by our horses
during the first attack close down by the river's edge, shel
tered by the steep Nile bank from the bullets which whistled
overhead. As soon as the fire began to slacken and it was
said on all sides that the attack had been repulsed, a Gen
eral arrived with his staff at a gallop with instant orders
to mount and advance. In two minutes the four squadrons
were mounted and trotting out of the zeriba in a southerly
direction. We ascended again the slopes of Jebel Surgham
which had played its part in the first stages of the action,
and from its ridges soon saw before us the whole plain of
Omdurman with the vast mud city, its minarets and domes,
spread before us six or seven miles away. After various halts
and reconnoitrings we found ourselves walking forward in
what is called 'column of troops.' There are four troops in
a squadron and four squadrons in a regiment. Each of these
troops now followed the other. I commanded the second
troop from the rear, comprising between twenty and twenty-
five Lancers.

Everyone expected that we were going to make a charge.
That was the one idea that had been in all minds since we
had started from Cairo. Of course there would be a charge.
In those days, before the Boer War, British cavalry had been
taught little else. Here was clearly the occasion for a charge.
But against what body of enemy, over what ground, in
which direction or with what purpose, were matters hidden
from the rank and file. We continued to pace forward over
the hard sand, peering into the mirage-twisted plain in a
high state of suppressed excitement. Presently I noticed, 300
yards away on our flank and parallel to the line on which we
were advancing, a long row of blue-black objects, two or
three yards apart. I thought there were about a hundred and
fifty. Then I became sure that these were men — enemy
men — squatting on the ground. Almost at the same moment
the trumpet sounded Trot/ and the whole long column of
cavalry began to jingle and clatter across the front of these

188

THE SENSATIONS OF A CAVALRY CHARGE

crouching figures. We were in the lull of the battle and
there was perfect silence. Forthwith from every blue-black
blob came a white puff of smoke, and a loud volley of
musketry broke the odd stillness. Such a target at such a
distance could scarcely be missed, and all along the column
here and there horses bounded and a few men fell.

The intentions of our Colonel had no doubt been to move
round the flank of the body of Dervishes he had now located,
and who, concealed in a fold of the ground behind their
riflemen, were invisible to us, and then to attack them from
a more advantageous quarter 5 but once the fire was opened
and losses began to grow, he must have judged it inexpedi
ent to prolong his procession across the open plain. The
trumpet sounded 'Right wheel into line/ and all the sixteen
troops swung round towards the blue-black riflemen. Al
most immediately the regiment broke into a gallop, and
the 2ist Lancers were committed to their first charge in
war!

I propose to describe exactly what happened to me: what
I saw and what I felt. I recalled it to my mind so frequently
after the event that the impression is as clear and vivid as
it was a quarter of a century ago. The troop I commanded
was, when we wheeled into line, the second from the right
of the regiment. I was riding a handy, sure-footed, grey
Arab polo pony. Before we wheeled and began to gallop,
the officers had been marching with drawn swords. On ac
count of my shoulder I had always decided that if I were in
volved in hand-to-hand fighting, I must use a pistol and
not a sword. I had purchased in London a Mauser auto
matic pistol, then the newest and the latest design. I had
practised carefully with this during our march and journey
up the river. This then was the weapon with which I de
termined to fight. I had first of all to return my sword into
its scabbard, which is not the easiest thing to do at a gallop.
I had then to draw my pistol from its wooden holster and
bring it to full cock. This dual operation took an appreci-

189

A ROVING COMMISSION

able time, and until it was finished, apart from a few
glances to my left to see what eflFect the fire was producing,
I did not look up at the general scene.

Then I saw immediately before me, and now only half
the length of a polo ground away, the row of crouching blue
figures firing frantically, wreathed in white smoke. On my
right and left my neighbouring troop leaders made a good
line. Immediately behind was a long dancing row of lances
couched for the charge. We were going at a fast but steady
gallop. There was too much trampling and rifle fire to hear
any bullets. After this glance to the right and left and at
my troop, I looked again towards the enemy. The scene
appeared to be suddenly transformed. The blue-black men
were still firing, but behind them there now came into view
a depression like a shallow sunken road. This was crowded
and crammed with men rising up from the ground where
they had hidden. Bright flags appeared as if by magic, and
I saw arriving from nowhere Emirs on horseback among
and around the mass of the enemy. The Dervishes ap
peared to be ten or twelve deep at the thickest, a great grey
mass gleaming with steel, filling the dry watercourse. In
the same twinkling of an eye I saw also that our right over
lapped their left, that my troop would just strike the edge
of their array, and that the troop on my right would charge
into air. My subaltern comrade on the right, Wormald of
the 7th Hussars, could see the situation too 5 and we both
increased our speed to the very fastest gallop and curved
inwards like the horns of the moon. One really had not
time to be frightened or to think of anything else but these
particular necessary actions which I have described. They
completely occupied mind and senses.

l^e collision was now very near. I saw immediately be
fore me, not ten yards away, the two blue men who lay in
my path. They were perhaps a couple of yards apart. I rode
at the interval between them. They both fired. I passed
through the smoke conscious that I was unhurt. The trooper

190

THE SENSATIONS OF A CAVALRY CHARGE

immediately behind me was killed at this place and at this
moment, whether by these shots or not I do not know. I
checked my pony as the ground began to fall away beneath
his feet. The clever animal dropped like a cat four or five
feet down on to the sandy bed of the watercourse, and in
this sandy bed I found myself surrounded by what seemed
to be dozens of men. They were not thickly packed enough
at this point for me to experience any actual collision with
them. Whereas GrenfelPs troop, next but one on my left,
was brought to a complete standstill and suffered very heavy
losses, we seemed to push our way through as one has some
times seen mounted policemen break up a crowd. In less time
than it takes to relate, my pony had scrambled up the other
side of the ditch. I looked round.

Once again I was on the hard, crisp desert, my horse at
a trot. I had the impression of scattered Dervishes run
ning to and fro in all directions. Straight before me a man
threw himself on the ground. The reader must remember
that I had been trained as a cavalry soldier to believe that
if ever cavalry broke into a mass of infantry, the latter
would be at their mercy. My first idea therefore was that
the man was terrified. But simultaneously I saw the gleam
of his curved sword as he drew it back for a ham-stringing
cut. I had room and time enough to turn my pony out of
his reach, and leaning over on the off side I fired two shots
into him at about three yards. As I straightened myself in
the saddle, I saw before me another figure with uplifted
sword. I raised my pistol and fired* So close were we that
the pistol itself actually struck him. Man and sword disap
peared below and behind me. On my left, ten yards away,
was an Arab horseman in a bright-coloured tunic and steel
helmet, with chain-mail hangings. I fired at him. He turned
aside. I pulled my horse into a walk and looked around
again.

In one respect a cavalry charge is very like ordinary life,
So long as you are all right, firmly in your saddle, your

191

A ROVING COMMISSION

Jiorse in hand, and well armed, lots of enemies will give
you a wide berth. But as soon as you have lost a stirrup,
have a rein cut, have dropped your weapon, are wounded,
or your horse is wounded, then is the moment when from
all quarters enemies rush upon you. Such was the fate of not
a few of my comrades in the troops immediately on my left.
. Brought to an actual standstill in the enemy's mass, clutched
at from every side, stabbed at and hacked at by spear and
sword, they were dragged from their horses and cut to
pieces by the infuriated foe. But this I did not at the time
see or understand. My impressions continued to be san
guine. I thought we were masters of the situation, riding
the enemy down, scattering them and killing them. I pulled
my horse up and looked about me. There was a mass of
Dervishes about forty or fifty yards away on my left. They
were huddling and clumping themselves together, rallying
for mutual protection. They seemed wild with excitement,
dancing about on their feet, shaking their spears up and
down. The whole scene seemed to flicker. I have an im
pression, but it is too fleeting to define, of brown-clad
Lancers mixed up here and there with this surging mob.
The scattered individuals in my immediate neighbourhood
made no attempt to molest me. Where was my troop?
Where were the other troops of the squadron? Within a
hundred yards of me I could not see a single officer or man.
I looked back at the Dervish mass. I saw two or three rifle
men crouching and aiming their rifles at me from the fringe
of it. Then for the first time that morning I experienced a
sudden sensation of fear. I felt myself absolutely alone. I
thought these riflemen would hit me and the rest devour me
like wolves. What a fool I was to loiter like this in the
mdst of the enemy! I crouched over the saddle, spurred my
horse Into a gallop and drew clear of the melee. Two or
three hundred yards away I found my troop already farced
about and partly formed up.

The other three troops of the squadron were reforming

192

THE SENSATIONS OF A CAVALRY CHARGE

close by. Suddenly in the midst of the troop up sprang a
Dervish. How he got there I do not know. He must have
leaped out of some scrub or hole. All the troopers turned
upon him thrusting with their lances: but he darted to and
fro causing for the moment a frantic commotion. Wounded
several times, he staggered towards me raising his spear.
I shot him at less than a yard. He fell on the sand, and lay
there dead. How easy to kill a man! But I did not worry
about it. I found I had fired the whole magazine of my
Mauser pistol, so I put in a new clip of ten cartridges before
thinking of anything else.

I was still prepossessed with the idea that we had inflicted
great slaughter on the enemy and had scarcely suffered at
all ourselves. Three or four men were missing from my
troop. Six men and nine or ten horses were bleeding from
spear thrusts or sword cuts. We all expected to be ordered
immediately to charge back again. The men were ready,
though they all looked serious. Several asked to be allowed
to throw away their lances and draw their swords. I asked
my second sergeant if he had enjoyed himself. His answer
was cWell, I don't exactly say I enjoyed it, Sirj but I
think I'll get more used to it next time? At this the whole
troop laughed.

But now from the direction of the enemy there ca«e a
succession of grisly apparitions j horses spouting blood,
struggling on three legs, men staggering on foot, men bleed
ing from terrible wounds, fish-hook spears stuck right
through them, arms and faces cut to pieces, bowels protrud
ing, men gasping, crying, collapsing, expiring. Our first
task was to succour these 5 and meanwhile the blood of our
leaders cooled. They remembered for the first time that
we had carbines. Everything was still in great confusion.
But trumpets were sounded and orders shouted, and we all
moved off at a trot towards the flank of the enemy. Arrived
at a position from which we could enfilade and rake tlie
watercourse, two squadrons were dismounted and in a few

A ROVING COMMISSION

minutes with their fire at three hundred yards compelled the
Dervishes to retreat. We therefore remained in possession
of the field. Within twenty minutes of the time when we
had first wheeled into line and began our charge, we were
halted and breakfasting in the very watercourse that had
so nearly proved our undoing. There one could see the
futility of the much vaunted Arme Blanche. The Dervishes
had carried off their wounded, and the corpses of thirty or
forty enemy were all that could be counted on the ground.
Among these lay the bodies of over twenty Lancers, so
hacked and mutilated as to be mostly unrecognisable. In
all out of 310 officers and men the regiment had lost in the
space of about two or three minutes five officers and sixty-
five men killed and wounded, and 120 horses — nearly a
quarter of its strength.

Such were my fortunes in this celebrated episode. It is
very rarely that cavalry and infantry, while still both un
shaken, are intermingled as the result of an actual collision.
Either the infantry keep their heads and shoot the cavalry
down, or they break into confusion and are cut down or
speared as they run. But the two or three thousand Der
vishes who faced the 2ist Lancers in the watercourse at
Omdurman were not in the least shaken by the stress of
battle or afraid of cavalry. Their fire was not good enough
to stop the charge, but they had no doubt faced horsemen
many a time in the wars with Abyssinia. They were fami
liar with the ordeal of the charge. It was the kind of fight
ing they thoroughly understood. Moreover, the fight was
with equal weapons, for the British too fought with sword
and lance as in the days of old.

*****

& white gunboat seeing our first advance had hurried up
the river m the hopes of being of assistance. From the
crow's nest, its commander, Beatty, watched the whole event
with breathless interest. Many years passed before I met

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A ROVING COMMISSION

this officer or knew that he had witnessed our gallop. When
we met, I was First Lord of the Admiralty and he the
youngest Admiral in the Royal Navy. 'What did it look
like?' I asked him. 'What was your prevailing impression?'
*It looked/ said Admiral Beatty, 'like plum duff: brown
currants scattered about in a great deal of suet.5 With this
striking, if somewhat homely, description my account of this
adventure may fittingly close*

196

CHAPTER XVI
I LEAVE THE ARMY

THE defeat and destruction of the Dervish Army was so
complete that the frugal Kitchener was able to dispense
immediately with the costly services of a British cavalry regi
ment. Three days after the battle the 2ist Lancers started
northwards on their march home. I was allowed to float
down the Nile in the big sailing-boats which contained the
Grenadier Guards. In Cairo I found Dick Molyneux, a sub
altern in the Blues, who like myself had been attached to
the 2 ist. He had been seriously wounded by a sword-cut
above his right wrist. This had severed all the muscles and
forced him to drop his revolver. At the same time his horse
had been shot at close quarters. Molyneux had been rescued
from certain slaughter by the heroism of one of his troopers.
He was now proceeding to England in charge of a hospital
nurse. I decided to keep him company. While we were talk
ing, the doctor came in to dress his wound. It was a horrible
gash, and the doctor was anxious that it should be skinned
over as soon as possible. He said something in a low tone to
the nurse, who bared her arm. They retired into a corner,
where he began to cut a piece of skin off her to transfer to
Molyneux's wound. The poor nurse blanched, and the doc
tor turned upon me. He was a great raw-boned Irishman.
'Oi'll have to take it off you,' he said. There was no es
cape, and as I rolled up my sleeve he added genially *YeVe
heeard of a man being flayed aloive? Well, this is what
it feels loike.J He then proceeded to cut a piece of skin
and some flesh about the size of a shilling from the inside
of my forearm. My sensations as he sawed the razor slowly
to and fro fully justified his description of the ordeal. How
ever, I managed to hold out until he had cut a beautiful

197

A ROVING COMMISSION

piece of skin with a thin layer of flesh attached to it. This
precious fragment was then grafted on to my friend's
wound. It remains there to this day and did him lasting
good in many ways. I for my part keep the scar as a souvenir.

My father and mother had always been able to live near
the centre and summit of the London world, and on a
modest scale to have the best of everything. But they had
never been at all rich, still less had they been able to save.
On the contrary, debts and encumbrances had accumulated
steadily during their intensely active public and private life.
My father's expedition to South Africa in 1891 had how
ever enabled him to obtain a share in very valuable gold-
mining properties. He had acquired among other holdings
5,000 Rand Mines shares at their original par value. Dur
ing the last year of his life these shares rose almost daily in
the market, and at his death they were nearly twenty times
the price he had paid for them. Soon afterwards they rose
to fifty or sixty times this price 5 and had he lived another
year he would have been possessed of a substantial fortune.
In those days, when there was no taxation worth mention
ing, and when the purchasing power of money was at least
half as great again as it is now, even a quarter of a mil
lion sterling was real wealth. However, he died at the mo
ment when his new fortune almost exactly equalled his debts.
The shares, of course, were sold, and when everything was
settled satisfactorily my mother was left with only the en
tailed property secured by her marriage settlements. This,
however, was quite enough for comfort, ease and pleasure.

I was most anxious not to be a burden upon her in any
wayj and amid the movement and excitements of the cam
paigns and polo tournaments I reflected seriously upon the
financial aspects of my military life. My allowance of £500
a year was aot sufficient to meet the expenses of polo and the
Hussars* I watched tbe remorseless piling up year by year

198

I LEAVE THE ARMY

of deficits which, although not large — as deficits go — were
deficits none the less. I now saw that the only profession
I had been taught would never yield me even enough
money to avoid getting into debt, let alone to dispense with
my allowance and become completely independent as I de
sired. To have given the most valuable years of one's edu
cation to reach a position of earning about 143. a day out
of which to keep up two horses and most costly uniforms
seemed hardly in retrospect to have been a very judicious
proceeding. To go on soldiering even for a few more years
would plainly land me and all connected with me in in
creasing difficulties. On the other hand the two books I had
already written and my war correspondence with the Daily
Telegraph had already brought in about five times as much
as the Queen had paid me for three years of assiduous and
sometimes dangerous work. Her Majesty was so stinted by
Parliament that she was not able to pay even a living
wage. I therefore resolved with many regrets to quit her
service betimes. The series of letters I had written for
the Morning Post about the battle of Omdurman, although
unsigned, had produced above £300. Living at home with
my mother my expenses would be small, and I hoped to
make from my new book about the Soudan Campaign, which
I had decided to call The River War, enough to keep me
in pocket money for at least two years. Besides this I had in
contemplation a contract with the Pioneer to write them
weekly letters from London at a payment of £3 apiece. I
have improved upon this figure in later lifej but at this
time I reflected that it nearly equalled the pay I was receiv
ing as a subaltern officer.

I therefore planned the sequence of the year 1899 as
follows: To return to India and win the Polo Tournament:
to send in my papers and leave the army: to relieve my
mother from paying my allowance: to write my new book
and the letters to the Pioneer: and to look out for a dbaace
of entering Parliament. These plans as will be seen were in

199

A ROVING COMMISSION

the main carried out. In fact from this year until the year
1919, when I inherited unexpectedly a valuable property
under the will of my long dead great-grandmother Frances
Anne, Marchioness of Londonderry, I was entirely depen
dent upon my own exertions. During all these twenty years I
maintained myself, and later on my family, without ever
lacking anything necessary to health or enjoyment. I am
proud of this, and I commend my example to my son, indeed
to all my children.

*****

I decided to return to India at the end of November in
order to prepare for the Polo Tournament in February. In
the interval I found myself extremely well treated at home.
My letters to the Morning Post had been read with wide
attention. Everyone wanted to hear about the campaign and
Omdurman and above all about the cavalry charge. I there
fore often found myself at the dinner table, in the clubs
or at Newmarket, which in those days I frequented, the cen
tre of appreciative circles of listeners and inquirers much
older than myself. There were also young ladies who took
some interest in my prattle and affairs. The weeks therefore
passed agreeably.

It was at this time that I met the group of new Con
servative M.P.'s with whom I was afterwards to be much
associated. Mr. Ian Malcolm invited me to a luncheon at
which the other guests were Lord Hugh Cecil, Lord Percy
(the elder brother of the late Duke of Northumberland)
and Lord Balcarres (now Lord Crawford). These were the
rising politicians of the Conservative Party} and many Par
liaments have met without receiving such an accession to the
strength and distinction of the assembly. They were all in
terested to see me, having heard of my activities, and also
on account of my father's posthumous prestige. Naturally I
was on my mettle, and not without envy in the presence of
these young men only two or three years older than myself,

200

I LEAVE THE ARMY

all born with silver spoons in their mouths, all highly dis
tinguished at Oxford or Cambridge, and all ensconced in
safe Tory constituencies. I felt indeed I was the earthen pot
among the brass.

Lord Hugh Cecil's intellectual gifts were never brighter
than in the morning of life. Brought up for nearly twenty
years in the house of a Prime Minister and Party Leader,
he had heard from childhood the great questions of State
discussed from the point of view of the responsible master
of our affairs. The frankness and freedom with which the
members of the Cecil family, male and female, talked and
argued with each other were remarkable. Differences of
opinion- were encouraged 5 and repartee and rejoinder flashed
to and fro between father and children, brother and sister,
uncle and nephew, old and young, as if they were all on
equal terms. Lord Hugh had already held the House of
Commons rivetted in pin-drop silence for more than an hour
while he discoursed on the government of an established
church and the differences between Erastians and High
Churchmen. He was an adept in every form of rhetoric or
dialectic} and so quick, witty and unexpected in conversation
that it was a delight to hear him.

Lord Percy, a thoughtful and romantic youth, an Irving-
ite by religion, of great personal charm and the highest
academic achievement, had gained two years before the
Newdigate Prize at Oxford for the best poem of the year.
He had travelled widely in the highlands of Asia Minor
and the Caucasus, feasting with princely barbarians and fast
ing with priestly fanatics. Over him the East exercised the
spell it cast over Disraeli. He might, indeed, have stepped
out of the pages of Tancred or Comngsby*

The conversation drifted to the issue of whether peoples
have a right to self government or only to good, govern
ment y what are the inherent rights of human beings and
on what are they founded? From this we pushed on to
Slavery as an institution. I was much surprised to find tfa&i

2OI

A ROVING COMMISSION

my companions had not the slightest hesitation in cham
pioning the unpopular side on all these issues j but what
surprised me still more, and even vexed me, was the diffi
culty I had in making plain my righteous and indeed obvious
point of view against their fallacious but most ingenious
arguments. They knew so much more about the controversy
and its possibilities than I did, that my bold broad gener
alities about liberty, equality and fraternity got seriously
knocked about. I entrenched myself around the slogan cNo
slavery under the Union Jack.' Slavery they suggested
might be right or wrong: the Union Jack was no doubt a
respectable piece of bunting: but what was the moral con
nection between the two? I had the same difficulty in dis
covering a foundation for the assertions I so confidently
made, as I have found in arguing with the people who con
tend that the sun is only a figment of our imagination. In
deed although I seemed to start with all the advantages, I
soon felt like going out into St. James's Street or Picadilly
and setting up without more ado a barricade and rousing a
mob to defend freedom, justice and democracy. However
at the end Lord Hugh said to me that I must not take such
discussions too seriously 5 that sentiments however worthy
required to be probed, and that he and his friends were not
really so much in favour of Slavery as an institution as I
might have thought. So it seemed that after all they were
only teasing me and making me gallop over grotind which
they knew well was full of traps and pitfalls.

After this encounter I had the idea that I must go to
Oxford when I came back from India after the tournament.
I was I expect at this time capable of deriving both profit
and enjoyment from Oxford life and thought, and I began
to make inquiries about how to get there. It seemed that
there were, even for persons of riper years like myself,
Examinations^ and that such formalities were indispensable.
I could not see why I should not have gone and paid my
fees and listened to the lectures and argued with the profes-

202

I LEAVE THE ARMY

sors and read the books that they recommended. However, it
appeared that this was impossible. I must pass examinations
not only in Latin, but even in Greek. I could not contemplate
toiling at Greek irregular verbs after having commanded
British regular troops 5 so after much pondering I had to my
keen regret to put the plan aside.

Early in November I paid a visit to the Central Offices o£
the Conservative Party at St. Stephen's Chambers, to inquire
about finding a constituency. One of my more remote con
nections, Fitzroy-Stewart, had long worked there in an hon
orary capacity. He introduced me to the Party Manager,
then Mr. Middleton, 'The Skipper5 as he was called. Mr.
Middleton was held in great repute because the Party had
won the General Election of 1895. When parties lose elec
tions through bad leadership or foolish policy or because of
mere slackness and the swing of the pendulum, they always
sack the party manager. So it is only fair that these func
tionaries should receive all the honours of success. cThe Skip
per' was very cordial and complimentary. The Party would
certainly find me a seat, and he hoped to see me in Parlia
ment at an early date. He then touched delicately upon
money matters. Could I pay my expenses, and how much a
year could I afford to give to the constituency? I said I would
gladly fight the battle, but I could not pay anything except
my own personal expenses. He seemed rather damped by
this, and observed that the best and safest constituencies al
ways liked to have the largest contributions from their mem
bers. He instanced cases where as much as a thousand pounds
a year or more was paid by the member in subscriptions and
charities in return for the honour of holding the seat. Risky
seats could not afford to be so particular, and ^Forlorn
Hopes' were very cheap. However, he said he would do all
he could, and that no doubt mine was an exceptional case on
account of my father, and also he added on account of my
experience at the wars, which would be popular with
Tory working-men.

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A ROVING COMMISSION

On the way out I had another talk with Fitzroy-Stewart.
My eye lighted upon a large book on his table on the cover
of which was a white label bearing the inscription 'SPEAKERS
WANTED.' I gazed upon this with wonder, Fancy that!
Speakers were wanted and there was a bulky book of appli
cations! Now I had always wanted to make a speech j but I
had never on any occasion great or small been invited or in
deed allowed to do so. There were no speeches in the 4th
Hussars nor at Sandhurst either — if I might exclude one
incident on which I was not concerned to dwell. So I said to
Fitzroy-Stewart, 'Tell me about this. Do you mean to say
there are a lot of meetings which want speakers?5 cYes,' he
replied; 'the Skipper told me I was not to let you go with
out getting something out of you. Can't I book you for one?'
I was deeply agitated. On the one hand I felt immense
eagerness 5 on the other the keenest apprehension. However,
in life's steeplechase one must always jump the fences when
they come. Regaining such composure as I could and assum
ing an indifference contrary to my feelings, I replied that
perhaps if all the conditions were suitable and there was a
real desire to hear me, I might be willing to accede to his
request. He opened the book.

It appeared there were hundreds of indoor meetings and
outdoor fetes, of bazaars and rallies— all of which were
clamant for speakers. I surveyed this prospect with the eye
of an urchin looking through a pastrycook's window. Finally
we selected Bath as the scene of my (official) maiden effort.
It was settled that in ten days' time I should address a gath
ering of the Primrose League in a park, the property of a
Mr. H. D. Skrine, situated on one of the hills overlooking
that ancient city. I quitted the Central Office in suppressed
excitement.

I was for some days in fear lest the plan should miscarry.
Perhaps Mr. Skrine or the other local magnates would not
want to have me, or had already found someone they liked
better. However, all went well. I duly received a formal in-

204

I LEAVE THE ARMY

vitation and an announcement of the meeting appeared In
the Morning Post. Oliver Borthwick now wrote that the
Morning Post would send a special reporter to Bath to take
down every word I said, and that the Morning Post would
give it prominence. This heightened both my ardour and my
nervousness. I spent many hours preparing my discourse and
learning it so thoroughly by heart that I could almost have
said it backwards in my sleep. I determined in defence of
His Majesty's Government to adopt an aggressive and even
a truculent mode. I was particularly pleased with one sen
tence which I coined, to the effect that 'England would gain
far more from the rising tide of Tory Democracy than from
the dried-up drainpipe of Radicalism.* I licked my chops
over this and a good many others like it. These happy ideas,
once they had begun to flow, seemed to come quite naturally.
Indeed I very soon had enough to make several speeches.
However, I had asked how long I ought to speak, and being
told that about a quarter of an hour would do, I confined
myself rigorously to 25 minutes. I found by repeated experi
ments with a stop-watch that I could certainly canter over
the course in 20 minutes. This would leave time for inter
ruptions. Above all one must not be hurried or flurried*
One must not yield too easily to the weakness of audiences*
There they were; what could they do? They had asked for
it and they must have it.

The day arrived. I caught a train from Paddington. There
was the reporter of the Morning Posty a companionable gen
tleman in a grey frock-coat. We travelled down together,
and as we were alone in the carriage, I tried one or two
tit-bits on him, as if they had arisen casually in conversation.
We drove in a fly up the hills above Bath together. Mr.
Skrine and his family received me hospitably. The fete was
in progress throughout the grounds. There were cocoanut-
shies and races and catchpenny shows of every kind. The
weather was fine and everybody was enjoying themselves*
Mindful of a former experience I inquired rather anxiously

205

A ROVING COMMISSION

about the meeting. It was all right. At five o'clock they
would ring a bell, and all these merrymakers would assemble
at the mouth of a tent in which a platform had been erected.
The Chairman of the Party in the district would introduce
me. I was the only speaker apart from the votes of thanks.

Accordingly when the bell began to ring, we repaired to
our tent and mounted the platform, which consisted of about
four boards laid across some small barrels. There was neither
table nor chair 5 but as soon as about a hundred persons had
rather reluctantly, I thought, quitted their childish amuse
ments in the park, the Chairman rose and in a brief speech
introduced me to the audience. At Sandhurst and in the army
compliments are few and far between, and flattery of sub
alterns does not exist. If you won the Victoria Cross or the
Grand National Steeplechase or the Army Heavyweight
Boxing Championship, you would only expect to receive
from your friends warnings against having your head turned
by your good luck. In politics it was apparently quite dif
ferent. Here the butter was laid on with a trowel. I heard
my father, who had been treated so scurvily, referred to in
glowing terms as one of the greatest leaders the Conserva
tives had ever had. As for my adventures in Cuba, on the
Indian frontier and up the Nile, I could only pray the regi
ment would never hear of what the Chairman said. When
he descanted upon my ^bravery with the sword and brilliancy
with the pen,' I feared that the audience would cry out <Oh,
rats!' or something similar. I was astonished and relieved to
find that they lapped it all up as if it were gospel.

Then came my turn. Hardening my heart, summoning
my resolution, I let off my speech. As I followed the well-
worn grooves from stage to stage and point to point, I felt
It was going quite well. The audience, which gradually in
creased in numbers, seemed delighted. They cheered a lot
at all the right places when I paused on purpose to give them
a chance, and even at others which I had not foreseen. At
the end they clapped loudly and for quite a long time. So

006

I LEAVE THE ARMY

I could do it after all! It seemed quite easy too. The re
porter and I went home together. He had stood just in front
of me writing it down verbatim. He was warm in his con
gratulations, and the next day the Morning Post printed a
whole column, and even in addition, mark you, wrote an
appreciative leaderette upon the arrival of a new figure upon
the political scene. I began to be much pleased with myself
and with the world: and in this mood I sailed for India.

We have now to turn to other and more serious affairs.
All the officers of the regiment subscribed to send our polo
team to the tournament at Meerut. Thirty ponies under the
charge of a sergeant-major were embarked in a special train
for the i,4OO-mile journey. Besides their syces they were
accompanied by a number of our most trustworthy non-com
missioned officers including a farrier-sergeant, all under the
charge of a sergeant-major. The train covered about 200
miles a day, and every evening the ponies were taken out
rested and exercised. Thus they arrived at their destination
as fit as when they started. We travelled separately but ar
rived at the same time. We had arranged to play for a fort
night at Jodhpore before going to Meerut. Here we were
the guests of the famous Sir Pertab Singh. Sir Pertab was the
trusted regent of Jodhpore, as his nephew the Maharajah
was still a minor. He entertained us royally in his large,
cool, stone house. Every evening he and his sons, two of
whom, Hurji and Dokul Singh, were as fine polo-players as
India has ever produced, with other Jodhpore nobles, played
us in carefully conducted instruction games. Old Pertab, who
loved polo next to war more than anything in the world,
used to stop the game repeatedly and point out faults or
possible improvements in our play and combination. 'Faster,
faster, same like fiy,J he would shout to increase the speed
of the game. The Jodhpore polo ground rises in great dmds
of red dust when a game is in progress. These clouds car-

207

A ROVING COMMISSION

ried to leeward on the strong breeze introduced a disturbing
and somewhat dangerous complication. Turbanned figures
emerged at full gallop from the dust-cloud, or the ball whis
tled out of it unexpectedly. It was difficult to follow the
whole game, and one often had to play to avoid the dust-
cloud. The Rajputs were quite used to it, and gradually it
ceased to worry their guests.

The night before we were to leave Jodhpore for Meerut
a grievous misfortune overtook me. Coming down to din
ner, I slipped on the stone stairs and out went my shoulder.
I got it put in again fairly easily, but the whole of the mus
cles were strained. By the next morning I had practically
lost the use of my right arm. I knew from bitter experience
that it would take three weeks or even more before I could
hit a polo ball hard again, and even then it would only be
under the precaution of having my elbow strapped to within
a few inches of my side. The tournament was to begin in
four days. The reader may well imagine my disappointment.
My arm had been getting steadily stronger, and I had been
playing No. i to the satisfaction of our team. Now I was a
cripple. We luckily had a fifth man with us, so I told my
friends when they picked me up, that they must take me out
of the team. They considered this very gravely all the next
day, and then our captain informed me that they had de
cided to play me in spite of everything. Even if I could not
hit the ball at all and could only hold a stick in my hand,
they thought that with my knowledge of the game and of
our team-play I should give the best chance of success. After
making sure that this decision had not been taken out of
compassion but solely on its merits, I consented to do my
best. In those days the off-side rule existed, and the No. i
was engaged in a ceaseless duel with the opposing back who,
turning and twisting his pony, always endeavoured to put
his opponent off-side. If the No. i was able to occupy the
back, ride him out of the game and hamper him at every
turn, then he could serve his side far better than by over-

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I LEAVE THE ARMY

much hitting of the ball. We knew that Captain Hardress
Lloyd, afterwards an international player against the United
States, was the back and most formidable member of the 4th
Dragoon Guards, the strongest team we should have to
meet.

Accordingly with my elbow strapped tight to my side,
holding a stick with many an ache and twinge, I played in
the first two matches of the tournament. We were successful
in both, and although I could only make a restricted con
tribution my friends seemed content. Our No. 2, Albert
Savory, was a hard, brilliant hitter. I cleared the way for
him. Polo is the prince of games because it combines all the
pleasure of hitting the ball, which is the foundation of so
many amusements, with all the pleasures of riding and
horsemanship, and to both of these there is added that in
tricate, loyal team-work which is the essence of football or
baseball, and which renders a true combination so vastly su
perior to the individuals of which it is composed.

The great day arrived. As we had foreseen we met the
4th Dragoon Guards in the Final. The match from the very
first moment was severe and even. Up and down the hard,
smooth Indian polo ground where the ball was very rarely
missed and everyone knew where it should be hit to, we
raced and tore. Quite soon we had scored one goal and our
opponents two, and there the struggle hung in equipoise for
some time. I never left the back, and being excellently
mounted kept him very busy. Suddenly in the midst of a
confused scrimmage close by the enemy goal, I saw the ball
spin towards me. It was on my near side. I was able to lift
the stick over and bending forward gave it a feeble forward
tap. Through the goalposts it rolled. Two alt! Apart from
the crippled No. I, we really had a very good team. Our
captain, Reginald Hoare, who played No. 3, was not easily
to be surpassed in India. Our bade, Barnes, my companion in
Cuba, was a rod:, and almost unfailingly sent his strong
back-handers to exactly the place where Savory was waiting

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for them with me to dear the way. For three years this con
test had been the main preoccupation of our lives, and we
had concentrated upon it every resource we possessed. Pres
ently I had another chance. Again the ball came to me close
to the hostile goal. This time it was travelling fast, and I
had no more to do in one fleeting second than to stretch out
my stick and send it rolling between the posts. Three to two!
Then our opponents exerting themselves swept us down the
ground and scored again. Three all!

I must explain that in Indian polo in those days, in order
to avoid drawn matches, subsidiary goals could be scored.
Half the width of the goalposts was laid off on either side
by two small flags, and even if the goal were missed, a ball
within these flags counted as a subsidiary. No number of
subsidiaries equalled one goal, but when goals were equal,
subsidiaries decided. Unfortunately our opponents had the
best of us in subsidiaries. Unless we could score again we
should lose. Once again fortune came to me, and I gave a
little feeble hit at the ball among the ponies' hoofs, and for
the third time saw it pass through the goal. This brought the
yth chukka to an end.

We lined up for the last period with 4 goals and 3 sub
sidiaries to our credit, our opponents having 3 goals and 4
subsidiaries. Thus if they got one more goal they would not
merely tie, but win the match outright. Rarely have I seen
such strained faces on both sides. You would not have thought
it was a game at all, but a matter of life and death. Far
graver crises cause less keen emotion. I do not remember
anything of the last chukka except that as we galloped up
and down the ground in desperate attack and counter-attack,
I kept on thinking, <Would God that night or Bliicher
would come.5 They came in one of the most welcome sounds
I h^ve ever heard: the bell which ended the match, and en-
atled us to say as we sat streaming and exhausted on our
ponies, *We have won the Inter-Regimental Tournament of
1899^ Prolonged rejoicings, intense inward satisfaction, and

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I LEAVE THE ARMY

nocturnal festivities from which the use of wine was not
excluded, celebrated the victory. Do not grudge these young
soldiers gathered from so many regiments their joy and
sport. Few of that merry throng were destined to see old
age. Our own team was never to play again. A year later
Albert Savory was killed in the Transvaal, Barnes was
grievously wounded in Natal, and I became a sedentary poli
tician increasingly crippled by my wrenched shoulder. It
was then or never for usj and never since has a cavalry regi
ment from Southern India gained the prize.

The regiment were very nice to me when eventually I
departed for home, and paid me the rare compliment of
drinking my health the last time I dined with them. What
happy years I had had with them and what staunch friends
one made! It was a grand school for anyone. Discipline and
comradeship were the lessons it taught 5 and perhaps after all
these are just as valuable as the lore of the universities. Still
one would like to have both.

I had meanwhile been working continuously upon The
River War. This work was extending in scope. From being
a mere chronicle of the Omdurman campaign, it grew back
wards into what was almost a history of the ruin and rescue
of the Soudan. I read scores of books, indeed everything
that had been published upon the subject 5 and I now planned
a couple of fat volumes. I affected a combination of the
styles of Macaulay and Gibbon, the staccato antitheses of the
former and the rolling sentences and genitival endings of
the latter; and I stuck in a bit of my own from time to time.
I began to see that writing, especially narrative, was not only
an affair of sentences, but of paragraphs. Indeed I thought
the paragraph no less important than the sentence. Macaulay
is a master of paragraphing. Just as the sentence contains one
idea in all its fullness, so the paragraph should embrace a
distinct episode 5 and as sentences should follow one another

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in harmonious sequence, so the paragraphs must fit on to one
another like the automatic couplings of railway carriages.
Chapterisation also began to dawn upon me. Each chapter
must be self-contained. All the chapters should be of equal
value and more or less of equal length. Some chapters define
themselves naturally and obviously 5 but much more diffi
culty arises when a number of heterogeneous incidents none
of which can be omitted have to be woven together into
what looks like an integral theme. Finally the work must be
surveyed as a whole and due proportion and strict order es
tablished from beginning to end. I already knew that chro
nology is the key to easy narrative. I already realised that
'good sense is the foundation of good writing.' I warned my
self against the fault of beginning my story as some poor
people do cFour thousand years before the Deluge/ and I
repeated earnestly one of my best French quotations, cL'art
d'etre ennuyeux, c'est de tout dire.' I think I will repeat it
again now.

It was great fun writing a book. One lived with it. It be
came a companion. It built an impalpable crystal sphere
around one of interests and ideas. In a sense one felt like a
goldfish in a bowl 5 but in this case the goldfish made his own
bowl. This came along everywhere with me. It never got
knocked about in travelling, and there was never a moment
when agreeable occupation was lacking. Either the glass had
to be polished, or the structure extended or contracted, or the
walls required strengthening. I have noticed in my life deep
resemblances between many different kinds of things. Writ
ing a book is not unlike building a house or planning a battle
or painting a picture. The technique is different, the mate
rials are different, but the principle is the same. The foun
dations have to be laid, the data assembled, and the premises
rnust bear the weight of their conclusions. Ornaments or re
finements may then be added. The whole when finished is
only the successful presentation of a theme. In battles how
ever the otjier fellow interferes all the time and keeps up-

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I LEAVE THE ARMY

setting things, and the best generals are those who arrive at
the results of planning without being tied to plans.

On my homeward steamer I made friends with the most
brilliant man in journalism I have ever met. Mr. G. W.
Steevens was the 'star' writer of a certain Mr. Harmsworth's
new paper called the Daily Mail which had just broken
upon the world, and had forced the Daily Telegraph to
move one step nearer Victorian respectability. Harmsworth
relied enormously upon Steevens in these early critical days,
and being well disposed to me, told him later on to write
me up, which he did in his glowing fashion. cBoom the
Boomsters' was in those days the motto of the infant Harms-
worth press, and on these grounds I was selected for their
favours. But I anticipate.

I was working in the saloon of the Indiaman, and had
reached an exciting point in my story. The Nile column had
just by a forced night march reached Abu Hamed and was
about to storm it. I was setting the scene in my most cere
monious style. cThe dawn was breaking and the mists, rising
from the river and dispersing with the coming of the sun,
revealed the outlines of the Dervish town and the half circle
of rocky hills behind it. Within this stern amphitheatre one
of the minor dramas of war was now to be enacted/ cHa!
ha!' said Steevens, suddenly peering over my shoulder. cFin-
ish it yourself then,' I said getting up \ and I went on deck.
I was curious to see how he would do it, and indeed I hoped
for a valuable contribution. But when I came down again I
found that all he had written on my nice sheet of paper
was Top-pop! pop-pop! Pop! Pop!' in his tiny handwrit
ing, and then at the bottom of the page printed in big letters
'BANG! ! !' I was disgusted at this levity. But Steevens had
many other styles besides that of the jaunty, breezy, slap
dash productions which he wrote for the Daily Mail. About
this time there had appeared an anonymous article upon the
future of the British Empire called cThe New Gibbon*' One
would have thought it had been lifted bodily from the pages

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of the Roman historian. I was astounded when Steevens con
fessed himself the author.

Later on Steevens was kind enough to read my proofs and
offer valuable advice which I transcribe. *The parts of the
book I have read/ he wrote, cappear to me to be a valuable
supplement to the works of G. W. Steevens, indeed, a valu
able work altogether. I think it first rate, sound, well got up
and put together, and full of most illuminating and descrip
tive pages. The only criticism J[ should make is that your
philosophic reflections, while generally well expressed, often
acute and sometimes true, are too devilish frequent. If I
were you I should cut out the philosopher about January
1898, giving him perhaps a short innings at the very end.
He will only bore people. Those who want such reflections
can often supply them without assistance.7 His gay, mocking
spirit and rippling wit made him a delightful companion,
and our acquaintance ripened into friendship during the sum
mer months of 1899. This was the last summer he was to
see. He died of typhoid fever in Ladysmith in the following
February.

*****

I paused in Cairo for a fortnight to collect materials for
my book and enlist the co-operation of several important ac
tors in the Soudan drama. In this way I met Girouard, the
young Canadian Royal Engineer who had built the desert
railway; Slatin Pasha, the little Austrian officer who had
been ten years the Khalifa's prisoner and whose book Fire
and Sword in the Soudan is a classic in its sphere ; Sir Regi
nald Wingate, head of the Intelligence, to whom I was al
ready indebted for an important meal 5 Garstin, head of the
Egyptian Irrigation Service -y together with a number of the
leading Egyptian statesmen and personalities. All these able
men had played their part in the measures of war and ad
ministration which in less than twenty years had raised Egypt
from anarchy, bankruptcy and defeat to triumphant pros
perity. I already knew their Chief, Lord Cromer. He in-

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I LEAVE THE ARMY

vited me to visit him at the British Agency, and readily un
dertook to read my chapters on the liberation of the Soudan
and Gordon's death, which I had already completed. Ac
cordingly I sent him a bulky bundle of typescript, and was
delighted and also startled to receive it back a few days later
slashed about with blue pencil with a vigour which recalled
the treatment my Latin exercises used to meet with at Har
row. I saw that Lord Cromer had taken an immense amount
of trouble over my screed, and I therefore submitted duti
fully to his comments and criticisms, which were often full
and sometimes scathing. For instance I had written about
General Gordon becoming private secretary to Lord Ripon
at one period in his career 'the brilliant sun had become the
satellite of a farthing dip.' On this Lord Cromer's com
ment was c "brilliant sun" appears to be extravagant eulogy
and "farthing dip" does less than justice to Lord Ripon's
position as Viceroy. Lord Ripon would not mind, but his
friends might be angry and most people would simply laugh
at you.3 I wrote back to say I was sacrificing this gem of
which till then I had thought so highly, and I also accepted
a great many other strictures in a spirit of becoming meek
ness. This disarmed and placated Lord Cromer, who contin
ued to take a friendly interest in my work. He wrote *My
remarks were, I know, severe, and it is very sensible of you
to take them in the spirit in which they were intended —
which was distinctly friendly. I did for you what I have
over and over again asked others to do for myself. I always
invite criticism from friends before I write or do anything
important. It is very much better to have one's weak points
indicated by friendly critics before one acts, rather than by
hostile critics when it is too late to alter. I hope your book
will be a success and I think it will. One of the very few
things which still interest me in life is to see young men get
on.5

I saw Lord Cromer repeatedly during this fortnight and
profited to the full by his knowledge and wisdom. He

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A ROVING COMMISSION

sented in an intense degree that phlegm and composure
which used to be associated with high British administrators
in the East. I was reminded of one of my best French quota
tions 'On ne regne sur les ames que par le calme.' He was
never in a hurry, never anxious to make an effect or sensa
tion. He sat still and men came to him. He watched events
until their combination enabled him to intervene smoothly
and decisively. He could wait a year as easily as a week, and
he had often waited four or five years before getting his
way. He had now reigned in Egypt for nearly sixteen years.
He rejected all high-sounding titles 5 he remained simply
the British Agent. His status was indefinite ; he might be
nothing; he was in fact everything. His word was law.
Working through a handful of brilliant lieutenants, who
were mostly young and who, like their Chief, had trained
themselves to keep in the background, Cromer controlled
with minute and patient care every department of the Egyp
tian administration and every aspect of its policy. British and
Egyptian Governments had come and gone; he had seen
the Soudan lost and reconquered. He had maintained a tight
hold upon the purse strings and a deft control of the whole
movement of Egyptian politics. It was very pleasant to see
him thus with his life's work shining around him, the em
bodiment of supreme power without pomp or apparent ef
fort. I felt honoured by the consideration with which he
treated me. We do not see his like nowadays, though our
need is grave.

CHAPTER XVII

OLDHAM

IN the Spring of 1899 I became conscious of the fact that
there was another Winston Churchill who also wrote
books 5 apparently he wrote novels, and very good novels
too, which achieved an enormous circulation in the United
States. I received from many quarters congratulations on
my skill as a writer of fiction. I thought at first these were
due to a belated appreciation of the merits of Savrola. Grad
ually I realised that there was canother Richmond in the
field,3 luckily on the other side of the Atlantic. I proceeded
to indite my trans-Atlantic double a letter which with his
answer is perhaps a literary curiosity.

LONDON,
June 7, 1899.

Mr. Winston Churchill presents his compliments to Mr.
Winston Churchill, and begs to draw his attention to a mat
ter which concerns them both. He has learnt from the Press
notices that Mr. Winston Churchill proposes to bring out
another novel, entitled Richard Carvel, which is certain to
have a considerable sale both in England and America.
Mr. Winston Churchill is also the author of a novel now
being published in serial form in Macmillarfs Magazine)
and for which he anticipates some sale both in England
and America. He also proposes to publish on the ist of Oc
tober another military chronicle on the Soudan War. He has
no doubt that Mr. Winston Churchill will recognise from
this letter — If indeed by no other means — that there is grave
danger of his works being mistaken for those of Mr. Wins
ton Churchill. He feels sure that Mr. Winston Churchill
desires this as little as he does himself. In future to avoid
mistakes as far as possible, Mr. Winston Churchill has de-

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cided to sign all published articles, stories, or other works,
'Winston Spencer Churchill,' and not 'Winston ChurchilP
as formerly. He trusts that this arrangement will commend
itself to Mr. Winston Churchill, and he ventures to suggest,
with a view to preventing further confusion which may arise
out of this extraordinary coincidence, that both Mr. Winston
Churchill and Mr. Winston Churchill should insert a short
note in their respective publications explaining to the public
which are the works of Mr. Winston Churchill and which
those of Mr. Winston Churchill. The text of this note might
form a subject for future discussion if Mr. Winston Churchill
agrees with Mr. Winston Churchill's proposition. He takes
this occasion of complimenting Mr. Winston Churchill upon
the style and success of his works, which are always brought
to his notice whether in magazine or book form, and he
trusts that Mr. Winston Churchill has derived equal plea
sure from any work of his that may have attracted his at
tention.

WINDSOR, VERMONT.

June 21, 1899.

Mr. Winston Churchill is extremely grateful to MX*.
Winston Churchill for bringing forward a subject which has
given Mr. Winston Churchill much anxiety. Mr. Winston
Churchill appreciates the courtesy of Mr. Winston Churchill
in adopting the name of 'Winston Spencer ChurchilP in his
books, articles, etc. Mr. Winston Churchill makes haste to
add that, had lie possessed any other names, he would cer
tainly have adopted one of them. The writings of Mr.
Winston Spencer Churchill (henceforth so called) have been
brought to Mr. Winston Churchill's notice since the publi
cation of his first story in the 'Century.' It did not seem then
to Mr. Winston Churchill that the works of Mr. Winston
Spencer Churchill would conflict in any way with his own
attempts at fiction.

The proposal of Mr. Winston Spencer Churchill to affix

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OLDH AM

a note to the separate writings of Mr. Winston Spencer
Churchill and Mr. Winston Churchill, the text of which is
to be agreed on between them, — is quite acceptable to Mr.
Winston Churchill. If Mr. Winston Spencer Churchill will
do him the favour of drawing up this note, there is little
doubt that Mr. Winston Churchill will acquiesce in its par
ticulars.

Mr. Winston Churchill moreover, is about to ask the
opinion of his friends and of his publishers as to the advisa
bility of inserting the words cThe American/ after his name
on the title-page of his books. Should this seem wise to them,
he will request his publishers to make the change in future
editions.

Mr. Winston Churchill will take the liberty of sending
Mr. Winston Churchill copies of the two novels he has writ
ten. He has a high admiration for the works of Mr. Winston
Spencer Churchill and is looking forward with pleasure to
reading Savrola.

All was settled amicably, and by degrees the reading
public accommodated themselves to the fact that there had
arrived at the same moment two different persons of the
same name wfro would from henceforward minister copi
ously to their literary, or if need be their political require
ments. When a year later I visited Boston, Mr. Winston
Churchill was the first to welcome me. He entertained me
at a very gay banquet of young men, and we made each
other complimentary speeches. Some confusion however per
sisted ; all my mails were sent to his address and the bill for
the dinner came in to me. I need not say that both these
errors were speedily redressed.

One day I was asked to go to the House of Commons by
a Mr. Robert Ascroft, Conservative member for Oldham*
He took me down to the smoking-room and opened to me

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A ROVING COMMISSION

an important project. Oldham is a two-member constituency,
and at this time the Conservatives held both seats. Ascroft
the senior member had a strong position, as he was not only
supported by the Conservative electors, but was also the tried
and trusted solicitor for the Oldham Cotton Operatives
Trade Unions. It appeared that his colleague "had been for
some time ailing, and Mr. Ascroft was on the look-out for
some one to run in double harness with him. He evidently
thought I should do. He made some sensible remarks.
'Young people' he said Very often do not have as much
money as older ones.' I knew nothing to enable me to con
tradict this painful fact. He seemed to think, however, that
all obstacles could be surmounted, and I agreed to come
down at an early date and address a meeting at Oldham
under his auspices.

Some weeks passed — and the date of this meeting was
already fixed, when to my regret the newspapers reported
Mr. Ascroft's sudden death. It seemed strange that he, so
strong and busy, seeming perfectly well, should flash away
like this, while the colleague whose health had caused him
so much anxiety, survived. Robert Ascroft was greatly re
spected by the Oldham working folk. They made a sub
scription of more than £2,000, the bulk collected in very
small sums, to set up a statue to him as cThe Workers'
Friend.' They stipulated — and I thought it characteristic of
these Lancashire operatives — that the money was not to go
to anything useful 5 no beds at a hospital, no extensions to a
library, no fountain even, just a memorial. They did not
want, they said, to give a present to themselves.

The vacancy now had to be filled, and they immediately
pitched on me. I had been, it was said, virtually selected by
the late honoured member. My name was already on the
hoardings to address a meeting. Add to this my father's
memory^ and the case was complete. I received straight
away without ever suing, or asking, or appearing before any
committee, a formal invitation to contest the seat. At the

220

OLDH AM

Conservative Central Office the 'Skipper* seemed quite con
tent with the local decision, but he urged that advantage
should be taken of the by-election to vacate both seats at the
same time. In his view the Government was not at that mo
ment in a good position to win Lancashire by-elections. They
did not want to have a second vacancy at Oldham in a few
months' time. Lord Salisbury could afford to be indifferent
to the loss of a couple of seats. Better to lose them both now
and have done with Oldham till the general election, when
they could win them back. The significance of this attitude
was not lost upon me. But in those days any political fight
in any circumstances seemed to me better than no fight at
all. I therefore unfurled my standard and advanced into the
battle.

I now plunged into a by-election attended by the fullest
publicity attaching to such episodes. I have fought up to
the present fourteen contested elections, which take about
a month of one's life apiece. It is melancholy, when one
reflects upon our brief span, to think that no less than four
teen months of life have been passed in this wearing clat
ter. By-elections, of which I have had five, are even worse
than ordinary elections because all the cranks and faddists
of the country and all their assodates and all the sponging,
'uplift' organisations fasten upon the wretched candidate.
If he is a supporter of the administration, all the woes of
the world, all the shortcomings of human society in addition
are laid upon him, and he is vociferously urged to say what
he is going to do about them.

In this case the Unionist administration was beginning
to be unpopular. The Liberals had been out of office long
enough for the electors to want a change. Democracy does
not favour continuity. The Englishman will not, except on
great occasions, be denied the indulgence of kicking out the
Ministers of the Crown whoever they are and of reversing
their policy whatever it is. I sailed out therefore upon an
adverse tide. Moreover at that time the Conservatives were

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passing through the House of Commons a Tithes Bill mak
ing things a little easier for the poor clergy in the Church
of England. The Nonconformists including the Wesleyans
who were very influential in Lancashire could not be ex
pected to feel much enthusiasm for this. The Radicals,
quite shameless in their mockery, went so far as to describe
this benevolent measure as cThe Clerical Doles Bill.' I need
scarcely say that until I reached Oldham my heart had
never bounded to any aspect of this controversy. Neither
my education nor my military experiences had given me
the slightest inkling of the passions which such a question
could arouse. I therefore asked what it was all about. Most
of my leading supporters seemed to agree with the Radi
cals in thinking the Clerical Doles Bill was a great mistake.
As soon as they had explained the issues to me, I saw a
solution. Of course the clergy ought to be kept up properly.
How could they maintain their position, if they were not?
But why not keep them all up equally, as we should do in
the Army? Measure each religion according to its congre
gation, lump them together, and divide the extra money
equally among them! This was fair, logical, reverent and
conciliatory. I was surprised no one had thought of it
before. But when I unfolded this plan to some of my com
mittee, no one seemed to think it would meet the case. In
fact they said it was no good at all. If everyone felt this, it
was certainly true. So I dropped my eirenicon of concur
rent endowment, and looked for other topics on which to
woo what was then almost the largest constituency in the
island.

At this point I was joined by my new colleague in the
fight. His accession was deemed to be a master stroke of
the Central Office. He was none other than Mr. James
Mawdsley, a Socialist and the much respected secretary of
the Operative Spinners' Association. Mr. Mawdsley was the
most genuine specimen of the Tory working-man candidate
I have ever come across* He boldly proclaimed admiration

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OLDH AM

of Tory democracy and even of Tory Socialism. Both parties
he declared were hypocritical, but the Liberals were the
worse. He for his part was proud to stand upon the platform
with a cscion5 of the ancient British aristocracy in the cause
of the working people who knew him so well and had
trusted him so long. I was much attracted by this develop
ment, and for some days it seemed successful. The partner
ship of cThe Scion and the Socialist' seemed a splendid
new orientation of politics. Unhappily the offensive and
disagreeable Radicals went about spoiling this excellent im
pression. They were aided by a lot of sulky fellows among
the Trade Unionists. These accused poor Mr. Mawdsley of
deserting his class. They were very rude about the Conserva
tive party. They did not even stop short of being disrespect
ful about Lord Salisbury, going so far as to say he was not
progressive, and out of harmony with modern democratic
sentiment. We of course repudiated these calumnies. In the
end however all the Liberal and Radical Trade Unionists
went off and voted for their party, and we were left with our
own strong supporters rather upset by the appearance of a
wicked Socialist on their platforms.

Meanwhile our two opponents the Liberal champions
proved themselves men of quality and mark. The senior,
Mr. Emmott, came from a family which had driven many
thousand spindles in Oldham for generations. Wealthy,
experienced, in the prime of life, woven into the texture
of the town, with abilities which afterwards raised him to
high official rank, and at the head of the popular party in
opposition to the Government, he was an antagonist not
easily to be surpassed. The junior, Mr. Runciman, then a
young and engaging figure, able, impeccable and very
wealthy, was also a candidate of exceptional merit. My
poor Trade Unionist friend and I would have had very great
difficulty in finding £500 between us, yet we were accused of
representing the vested interests of society, while our op
ponents, who were certainly good for a quarter of a million,

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claimed to champion in generous fashion the causes of the
poor and needy. A strange inversion!

The fight was long and hard. I defended the virtues of
the Government, the existing system of society, the Estab
lished Church and the unity of the Empire. 'Never before'
I declared 'were there so many people in England, and
never before had they had so much to eat.5 I spoke of the
vigour and the strength of Britain, of the liberation of the
Soudan and of the need to keep out the foreign goods made
by prison labour. Mr. Mawdsley followed suit. Our op
ponents deplored the misery of the working masses, the
squalor of the slums, the glaring contrast between riches
and poverty, and in particular, indeed above all, the iniqui
ties of the Clerical Doles Bill. The contest would have been
most uneven, but for the uncanny gift which the Lancashire
working folk possess of balancing up the pros and cons
of those who seek their votes. They apply all sorts of cor
rectives to the obvious inequalities of the game. I delivered
harangues from morning till night, and Mr. Mawdsley
continued steadily to repeat his slogan that the Liberals
were undoubtedly more hypocritical than the Tories.

Oldham is a purely working-class constituency, and was
in those days an extremely prosperous community. Not only
did they spin cotton goods for India, China and Japan, but
in addition they made at the great works of Asa Lees the
machinery which was ultimately to enable India, China and
Japan to spin these cotton goods for themselves. There was
no hotel in the town where one could hope to sleep, and few
wealthy houses 5 but there were many thousands of con
tented working-class homes where for more than half a
century things had been getting slowly and surely better.
Tkey were rising in the scale of prosperity, with woollen
shawls over the girls' heads, wooden dogs on their feet,
and barefoot children. I have lived to see them falling back
in the world's affairs, but still at a level far superior to that
which they then deemed prosperity. In those days the say-

224

OLDH AM

ing was 'clogs to clogs in four generations': the first makes
the money, the second increases it, the third squanders it,
and the fourth returns to the mill. I lived to see them dis
turbed because of a tax on silk stockings, with a style of
life in my early days unknown, and yet gripped in the ever-
narrowing funnel of declining trade and vanished ascen
dancy. No one can come in close contact with the working
folk of Lancashire without wishing them well.

Half-way through the election all my principal supporters
besought me to throw over the Clerical Doles Bill. As I
was ignorant of the needs which had inspired it and detached
from the passions which it aroused, the temptation to dis
card it was very great. I yielded to the temptation. Amid the
enthusiastic cheers of my supporters I announced that, if re
turned, I would not vote for the measure. This was a fright
ful mistake. It is not the slightest use defending Govern
ments or parties unless you defend the very worst thing
about which they are attacked. At the moment I made my
declaration the most vehement debates were taking place
upon this Bill. At Westminster the Government were
taunted with the fact that their own chosen candidate could
not face a Lancashire electorate upon the issue, and at Old-
ham the other side, stimulated by my admission, redoubled
their attacks upon the Bill. Live and learn! I think I may
say without coiiceit that I was in those days a pretty good
candidate. At any rate we had real enthusiasm on our side,
and it rejoiced my heart to see these masses of working peo
ple who ardently, and for no material advantage, asserted
their pride in our Empire and their love for the ancient tra
ditions of the realm. However, when the votes were counted
we were well beaten. In a poll of about 23,000 votes — then
as big as was known in England — I was 1,300 behind and
Mr. Mawdsley about 30 lower.

Then came the recriminations which always follow every
kind of defeat. Everyone threw the blame on me, I have
noticed that they nearly, always do. I suppose it is because

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A ROVING COMMISSION

they think I shall be able to bear it best. The high Tories
and the Carlton Club said 'Serve him right for standing
with a Socialist. No man of any principle would have done
such a thing!' Mr. Balfour, then leader of the House of
Commons, on hearing that I had declared against his Cleri
cal Tithes Bill, said in the Lobby, quite justifiably I must
admit, 'I thought he was a young man of promise, but it
appears he is a young man of promises.' Party newspapers
wrote leading articles to say what a mistake it was to entrust
the fighting of great working-class constituencies to young
and inexperienced candidates, and everyone then made haste
to pass away from a dismal incident. I returned to London
with those feelings of deflation which a bottle of champagne
or even soda-water represents when it has been half emptied
and left uncorked for a night.

No one came to see me on my return to my mother's
house. However Mr. Balfour, always loyal and compre
hending, wrote me a letter — every word in his own hand
writing — which I have just unearthed from my most ancient
archives.

10,7.99.

I was very sorry to hear of your ill success at Oldham,
as I had greatly hoped to see you speedily in the House
where your father and I fought many a good battle side
by side in days gone by. I hope however you will not be
discouraged by what has taken place. For many reasons
this is a very unpropitious time to fight by-elections. At
by-elections the opposition can safely entrench themselves
behind criticism and are not driven to put a rival programme
in the field. This is at all times an advantage 5 it is doubly
an advantage when the rival programme would have to
include so unpromising an item as Home Rule. Moreover
opposition criticism falls just now upon willing ears. The
employers dislike the compensation bill 5 the doctors dislike
the vaccination billj the general public dislike the clergy, so

226

OLDH AM

the rating bill is unpopular: the clergy resented your repudi
ation of the bill: the Orangemen are sulky and refuse to be
conciliated even by the promise to vote for the Liverpool
proposals. Of course those benefited by our measures are
not grateful, while those who suppose themselves to be in
jured resent them. Tjruly unpromising conditions under
which to fight a Lancashire seat!

Never mind, it will all come right; and this small reverse
will have no permanent ill effect upon your political fortunes.

At the end of this July I had a good long talk with Mr.
Chamberlain. Although I had several times met him at
my father's house, and he had greeted me on other occasions
in a most kindly manner, this was the first time I really made
his acquaintance. We were both the guests of my friend,
Lady Jeune. She had a pleasant house upon the Thames:
and in the afternoon we cruised along the river in a launch.
Unlike Mr. Asquith, who never talked 'shop' out of busi
ness hours if he could help it, Mr. Chamberlain was always
ready to discuss politics. He was most forthcoming and at
the same time startlingly candid and direct. His conversation
was a practical political education in itself. He knew every
detail, every turn and twist of the game, and understood
deeply the moving forces at work in both the great parties,
of whose most aggressive aspirations he had in turn been
the champion. In the main both in the launch and after
wards at dinner the conversation lay between us. South
Africa had begun again to be a growing topic* The negotia
tions with President Kruger about the delicate, deadly ques
tion of suzerainty were gradually engaging national and
indeed world attention. The reader may be sure I was keen
that a strong line should be taken, and I remember Mr.
Chamberlain saying, 'It is no use blowing the trumpet for
the charge and then looking around to find nobody follow
ing.' Later we passed an old man seated upright in his chair
on a lawn at the brink of the river. Lady Jeune said, 'Look,

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A ROVING COMMISSION

there is Labouchere.' 'A bundle of old rags!' was Mr. Cham
berlain's comment as he turned his head away from his
venomous political opponent. I was struck by the expres
sion of disdain and dislike which passed swiftly but with
intensity across his face. I realised as by a lightning flash,
how stern were the hatreds my famous, agreeable, vivacious
companion had contracted and repaid in his quarrel with the
Liberal party and Mr. Gladstone.

For the rest I was plunged in The River War. All the
hard work was done and I was now absorbed in the delight
ful occupation of playing with the proofs. Being now free
from military discipline, I was able to write what I thought
about Lord Kitchener without fear, favour or affection, and
I certainly did so. I had been scandalised by his desecration
of the Mahdi's Tomb and the barbarous manner in which
he had carried off the MahdPs head in a kerosene-can as a
trophy. There had already been a heated debate in Parlia
ment upon this incident, and I found myself sympathising
in the gallery with the attacks which John Morley and Mr.
C. P. Scott, the austere editor of the Manchester Guardian,
had launched against the general. The Mahdi's head was
just one of those trifles about which an immense body of
rather gaseous feeling can be generated. All the Liberals
were outraged by an act which seemed to them worthy of
the Huns and Vandals. All the Tories thought it rather a
lark. So here was I already out of step.

We planned to publish about the middle of October, and
I was already counting the days till the two massive volumes,
my Magnum Of us (up to date), upon which I had lavished
a whole year of my life, should be launched upon an ex
pectant public.

But when the middle of October came, we all had other
thiags to think about.

228

CHAPTER XVIII
WITH BULLER TO THE CAPE

GREAT quarrels, it has been said, often arise from small
occasions but never from small causes. The immedi
ate preliminaries of the South African War were followed
throughout England, and indeed the whole world, with
minute attention. The long story of the relations of Briton
and Boer since Majuba Hill, and the still longer tale of
misunderstandings which had preceded that ill-omened
episode, were familiar to wide publics. Every step in the
negotiations and dispute of 1899 was watched with unceas
ing vigilance and debated in the sharpest challenge by the
Opposition in the House of Commons. As the months of
the summer and autumn passed, the dividing line in British
politics was drawn between those who felt that war with the
Boer Republics was necessary and inevitable and those who
were resolved by every effort of argument, patience and
prevision to prevent it.

The summer months were sultry. The atmosphere gradu
ally but steadily became tense, charged with electricity,
laden with the presage of storm. Ever since the Jameson
raid three years before, the Transvaal had been arming
heavily. A well-armed Police held the Outlanders in strict
subjection, and German engineers were tracing the outlines
of a fort overlooking Johannesburg to dominate the city
with its artillery. Cannon, ammunition, rifles streamed in
from Holland and Germany iii quantities sufficient not only
to equip the populations of the two Boer Republics, but to
arm a still larger number of the Dutch race throughout
the Cape Colony. Threatened by rebellion as well as war,
the British Government slowly increased its garrisons in
Natal and at the Cape. Meanwhile notes and dispatches 0£

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A ROVING COMMISSION

ever-deepening gravity, between Downing Street and Pre
toria, succeeded one another in a sombre chain.

Suddenly in the early days of October the bold, daring
men who directed the policy of the Transvaal resolved to
bring the issue to a head. An ultimatum requiring the with
drawal of the British forces from the neighbourhood of the
Republican frontiers, and the arrest of further reinforce
ments, was telegraphed from Pretoria on the 8th. The
notice allowed before its expiry was limited to three days.
And from that moment war was certain.

The Boer ultimatum had not ticked out on the tape
machines for an hour before Oliver Borthwick came to offer
me an appointment as principal War Correspondent of the
Morning Post. £250 a month, all expenses paid, entire dis
cretion as to movements and opinions, four months' mini
mum guarantee of employment — such were the terms j
higher, I think, than any previously paid in British journal
ism to War Correspondents, and certainly attractive to a
young man of twenty-four with no responsibilities but to
earn his own living. The earliest steamer, the Dtmottar
Castle, sailed on the nth, and I took my passage forth
with.

Preparations made in joyous expectation occupied my few
remaining hours at home. London seethed with patriotic
excitement and fierce Party controversy. In quick succes
sion there arrived the news that the Boers themselves had
taken the initiative and that their forces were advancing both
towards the Cape Colony and Natal, that General Sir
Redvers Buller had become the British Commander-in-
Chief, that the Reserves were called out, and that our only
Army Corps was to be sent at once to Table Bay.

I thought I would try to see Mr. Chamberlain before I
sailed. Busy though the Minister was, he gave me rendez
vous at the Colonial Office; and when I was unable to get
there in time, he sent me a message to come to his house at
Prince's Gardens early the next morning. There accordingly

230

WITH BULLER TO THE CAPE

I visited this extraordinary man at one of the most fateful
moments in his public career. He was as usual smoking a
cigar. He presented me with another. We talked for about
ten minutes on the situation, and I explained what I was
going to do. Then he said, *I must go to the Colonial
Office. You may drive with me, and we can talk on the
way.'

In those days it took a quarter of an hour to drive in a
hansom-cab from Prince's Gardens to Whitehall. I would
not have had the journey shortened for anything. Mr.
Chamberlain was most optimistic about the probable course
of the war.

'Buller,' he said, 'may well be too late. He would have
been wiser to have gone out earlier. Now, if the Boers invade
Natal, Sir George White with his sixteen thousand men may
easily settle the whole thing.'

'What about Maf eking?' I asked.

'Ah, Mafeking, that may be besieged. But if they can
not hold out for a few weeks, what is one to expect?'

Then he added prudently, 'Of course I have to base my
self on the War Office opinion. They are all quite confi
dent. I can only go by what they say.'

The British War Office of those days was the product of
two generations of consistent House of Commons parsi
mony, unbroken by any serious call. So utterly unrelated
to the actual facts were its ideas at this time that to an
Australian request to be allowed to send a contingent of
troops, the only reply was, 'Unmounted men preferred/
Nevertheless their own Intelligence Branch which lived in
a separate building had prepared two volumes on the Boer
Republics — afterwards presented to Parliament — which
gave most full and accurate information. Sir John Ardagh,
the head of this branch, told Lord Lansdowne, the Secretary
of State for War, that 200,000 men would be required*
His views were scouted -y and the two volumes sent to Buller
were returned within an hour with the message that he

231

A ROVING COMMISSION

cknew everything about South Africa.' Mr. George Wynd-
ham, the Under Secretary of State, who dined with me one
of these nights, alone seemed to appreciate the difficulties and
magnitude of the task. The Boers, he said, were thoroughly
prepared and acting on definite plans. They had large quan
tities of munitions, including a new form of heavy Maxim
firing I -inch shells. (This we afterwards learned to know
quite well as the Pompom.} He thought that the opening of
the campaign might be unpleasant, that the British forces
might be attacked in detail, that they might be surrounded
here and there by a far more mobile foe, and having been
brought to a standstill, might be pounded to pieces with
these same i-inch Maxims. I must confess that in the ardour
of youth I was much relieved to learn that the war would
not be entirely one-sided or peter out in a mere parade of
demonstration. I thought it very sporting of the Boers to
take on the whole British Empire, and I felt quite glad
they were not defenceless and had put themselves in the
wrong by making preparations.

Let us learn our lessons. Never, never, never believe any
war will be smooth and easy, or that anyone who embarks
on the strange voyage can measure the tides and hurricanes
he will encounter. The Statesman who yields to war fever
must realise that once the signal is given, he is no longer the
master of policy but the slave of unforeseeable and uncon
trollable events. Antiquated War Offices, weak, incompe
tent or arrogant Commanders, untrustworthy allies, hostile
neutrals, malignant Fortune, ugly surprises, awful miscal
culations — all take their seats at the Council Board on the
morrow of a declaration of war. Always remember, how
ever sure you are that you can easily win, that there would
not be a war if the other man did not think he also had a

chance.

*****

One of my father's oldest friends, Billy Gerard, had some
years before extracted a promise from Sir Redvers Buller

232

WITH BULLER TO THE CAPE

(as I had done from Sir Bindon Blood) that, if ever that
general received the command of an army in the field, he
would take him on his staff. Lord Gerard was now an
elderly man, of great wealth, extremely well known in
society and one of the leading owners on the Turf. His
approaching departure for the front was made the occasion
of a dinner given by Sir Ernest Cassel in his honour at
the Carlton Hotel. I was associated as a second string in
this demonstration. The Prince of Wales and about forty
men of the ruling generation formed a powerful and a merry
company. Gerard's function was to look after the personal
comfort of the Commander-in-Chief , and for this purpose
he was presented at the dinner with I do not know how
many cases of the very best champagne and the very oldest
brandy which the cellars of London boasted. He was in
formed by the donors that he was to share these blessings
freely with me whenever opportunity arose. Everyone was
in that mood of gaiety and heartiness which so often salutes
an outbreak of war. One of our company who was also
starting for the front had from time to time in his past
life shown less self-control in the use of alcohol than is to
be desired. Indeed he had become a byword. As he rose to
leave us, Lord Marcus Beresf ord said with great earnestness
"Good-bye, old man, mind the V.C" To this our poor
friend, deeply moved, replied "I'll do my best to win it/*
"Ah!" said Lord Marcus, "you are mistaken, I did not
mean that, I meant the Vieux Cognac."

I may here add that these cases of champagne and brandy
and my share in them fell among the many disappointments
of war. In order to make sure that they reached the head
quarters intact, Lord Gerard took the precaution of label
ling them ^Castor Oil/ Two months later in Natal, when
they had not yet arrived, he despatched an urgent telegram
to the base at Durban asking for his castor oil. The reply
came back that the packages of this drug addressed to His
Lordship had by an error already been issued to the hos
pitals. There were now, however, ample stores of castoi;

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A ROVING COMMISSION

oil available at the base and the Commandant was forward
ing a full supply forthwith!

Many of our South African experiences were to be upon
a similar plane.

The Dunottar Castle sailed from Southampton on Oc
tober ii, the day of the expiry of the Boer ultimatum. It
did not only carry the Correspondent of the Morning Post
and his fortunes j Sir Redvers Buller and the entire Head
quarters Staff of our one (and only) organized army corps
were also on its passenger list. Buller was a characteristic
British personality. He looked stolid. He said little, and
what he said was obscure. He was not the kind of man who
could explain things, and he never tried to do so. He usually
grunted, or nodded, or shook his head, in serious discus
sions 5 and shop of all kinds was sedulously excluded from
his ordinary conversation. He had shown himself a brave
and skilful officer in his youth, and for nearly twenty years
he had filled important administrative posts of a sedentary
character in Whitehall. As his political views were coloured
with Liberalism, he was regarded as a very sensible soldier.
His name had long been before the public 3 and with all these
qualities it is no wonder that their belief in him was un
bounded. 'My confidence,' said Lord Salisbury at the Guild
hall, on November 9, 1899, cm the British soldier is only
equalled by my confidence in Sir Redvers Buller.' Certainly
he was a man of a considerable scale. He plodded on from
blunder to blunder and from one disaster to another, with
out losing either the regard of his country or the trust of his
troops, to whose feeding as well as his own he paid serious
attention. Independent, portentous, a man of the world,
and a man of affairs — he gave the same sort of impression
to the British at this juncture as we afterwards saw effected
on the French nation through the personality of General
Joffre.

While the issues of peace and war seemed to hang in their
last flickering balance, and before a single irrevocable shot
had been fired, we steamed off into grey storms. There was

234

WITH BULLER TO THE CAPE

of course no wireless in those days, and therefore at this most
exciting moment the Commander-in-Chief , the Headquarters
Staff and the Correspondent of the Morning Post dropped
completely out of the world. Still we expected news at Ma
deira, which was reached on the fourth day. There was no
news at Madeira, except that negotiations were at an end
and that troops on both sides were moving. In this suspense
we glided off again, this time into the blue.

We had now to pass a fortnight completely cut off from
all view of the drama which filled our thoughts. It was a
fortnight of cloudless skies and calm seas, through which
the Cape Liner cut her way with placid unconcern. She did
not even increase her speed above the ordinary commercial
rate. Such a measure would have been unprecedented. Near
ly fifty years had passed since Great Britain had been at war
with any white people, and the idea that time played any
vital part in such a business seemed to be entirely absent
from all her methods. Absolute tranquillity lapped the peace
ful ship. The usual sports and games of a sea voyage occu
pied her passengers, civil and military alike. Buller trod the
deck each day with sphinx-like calm. The general opinion
among the Staff was that it would be all over before they
got there. Some of our best officers were on board, and they
simply could not conceive how 'irregular, amateur* forces
like the Boers could make any impression against disciplined
professional soldiers. If the Boers broke into Natal, they
would immediately come up against General Penn Symonds
who lay with a whole infantry brigade, a cavalry regiment
and two batteries of artillery, at Dundee in the extreme north
of Natal. The fear of the Staff was that such a shock would
so discomfort them that they would never again try con
clusions with regular forces. All this was very disheartening,
and I did not wonder that Sir Redvers Buller often looked
so glum.

Twelve days passed in silence, peace and speculation, I
had constructed a dozen imaginary situations, ranging from
the capture of Cape Town by Kruger to the capture o£ Pre-

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A ROVING COMMISSION

toria by Sir George White or even by General Penn Sym-
onds. None of them carried conviction to my mind. How
ever, in two more days we should know all that had hap
pened in this trance-like fortnight. The Interval would be
over. The curtain would rise again on the world's scene.
What should we see? I thought it must be very hard for
General Buller to bear the suspense. What would he give to
know what was taking place? How silly of the Government
not to send out a torpedo boat to meet him five days from
land and put him in possession of all the facts, so that he
could adjust his mind to the problem and think over his first
steps coolly and at leisure!

Suddenly there was a stir on deck. A ship was sighted
right ahead, coming that is to say from the land of knowl
edge. We drew together rapidly. I think she would have
passed us about a mile away but for the fact that some of
the younger ones among us started a buzz of excitement.
'Surely we can get some news from her? Can't we stop her?
She will have the Cape newspapers on board! Surely we
are not going to let her go by without making an effort?'

These murmurs reached the ears of high seniority. Grave
counsel was taken. It was decided that it would be unusual
to stop a ship at sea. Possibly there might be a claim for
damages against the Government, or some other penalty
like that which happens if you pull the communication-cord
without sufficient provocation. As a bold half-measure signals
were made to the steamer, asking for news. On this she
altered her course and steamed past us little more than a
hundred yards' distance. She was a tramp steamer with per
haps twenty persons on board. They all gathered to look at
us, and we — as the reader may well believe — returned the
compliment. A blackboard was held up from the deck of
the tramp, and on this we read the following legend: —

BOERS DEFEATED.

THREE BATTLES.

PENN SYMONDS KILLED.

236

WITH BULLER TO THE CAPE

Then she faded away behind us, and we were left to
meditate upon this cryptic message.

The Staff were frankly consternated. There had evi
dently been fighting — actual battles! And a British Gen
eral had been killed! It must therefore have been severe
fighting. It was hardly possible the Boers would have any
strength left. Was it likely, if they had been defeated in
three battles, they would continue their hopeless struggle?
Deep gloom settled down upon our party. Buller alone re
mained doggedly inscrutable, a tower of strength in times of
trouble. He had read the message through his field-glasses,
but had made no sign. It was not until some minutes had
passed that a Staff Officer ventured to address him.

*It looks as if it will be over, sir.*

Thus pressed, the great man answered in the following
words:

*I dare say there will be enough left to give us a fight
outside Pretoria.*

His military instinct was sure and true. There was quite
enough left!

This impressive utterance restored our morale. It was
repeated from one to another, and it ran through the ship
in a few moments. Every eye was brighter. Every heart felt
lighter of its load. The Staff Officers congratulated one
another, and the Aides-de-Camp skipped for joy. The op
timism was so general that no one turned and rent me when
I uplifted my voice and said *that it would only have taken
ten minutes to have stopped the ship and got proper in
formation so that we should all know where we were.' On
the contrary reasonable answer was made to me as follows:

clt is the weakness of youth to be impatient. We should
know everything that had happened quite soon enough.
Sir Redvers Buller had shown his characteristic phlegm in
not seeking to anticipate the knowledge which would be at
his disposal on landing at Cape Town. Moreover, as the
remaining battle would, in the Commander-in-ChiePs opia-

237

A ROVING COMMISSION

ion, not take place until we reached Pretoria, and as Pretoria
was upwards of seven hundred miles from Cape Town, there
would be plenty of time to make all the arrangements neces
sary for disposing of what was left of the Boer resistance.
Finally, the habit of questioning the decisions of superior
officers in time of war, or in time of peace for that matter,
was much to be regretted even in a War Correspondent, and
more particularly in one who had quite recently worn the
uniform of an officer.5

I, however, remained impenitent and unconvinced.

238

CHAPTER XIX

THE ARMOURED TRAIN

IT was dark when we anchored in Table Bay; but innumer
able lights twinkled from the shore, and a stir of launches
soon beset our vessel. High functionaries and naval and mili
tary officers arrived, bearing their reports. The Headquar
ters staff sat up all night to read them. I got hold of a
bundle of newspapers and studied these with equal atten
tion.1

The Boers had invaded Natal, had attacked our advanced
forces at Dundee, and though defeated in the action of Ta-
lana Hill, had killed General Penn Symonds and very nearly
rounded up the three or four thousand troops he had com
manded as they made their hurried and hazardous retreat to
Ladysmith. At Ladysmith Sir George White at the head of
twelve or thirteen thousand men, with forty or fifty guns and
a brigade of cavalry, attempted to bar their further advance*
The intention of the British Government, though this I did
not know at the time, was that he should retire southwards
across the Tugela, delaying the Boer advance until he could
be joined by the large reinforcements now hastening across
the oceans from England and India. Above all, he was not
to let himself be cut off and surrounded. The British war
plan contemplated the temporary sacrifice of Northern Na
tal, the projecting triangle of which was obviously not
defensible, and the advance of the main army under Buller
from the Cape Colony through the Orange Free State to
Pretoria. All this was soon deranged.

1For this and the following chapters, see map of the South African
theatre, facing page 252.

239

A ROVING COMMISSION

I remember one night in after years that I said to Mr.
Balfour at dinner how badly Sir George White had been
treated. A look of implacable sternness suddenly replaced
his easy, smiling, affable manner. A different man looked
out upon me. 'We owe to him,' he said, cthe Ladysmith
entanglement.'

On the very day of our arrival (October 31) grave events
had taken place around Ladysmith. General White, who
had gained a local success at Elandslaagte, attempted an
ambitious offensive movement against the elusive, advanc
ing, enveloping Boer commandos. A disaster had occurred.
Nearly twelve hundred British infantry had been forced to
surrender at Nicholson's Nek, and the rest of the widely-
dispersed forces were thrown back upon Ladysmith. This
they hastily converted into an entrenched camp of wide
extent, and being speedily invested on all sides by the Boers,
and their railway cut, settled down in a prolonged siege to
await relief. The Boers, having encircled them on all sides,
had left two-thirds of their forces to block them in, and
were presumably about to pass on with the rest across the
Tugela River into Southern Natal. Meanwhile in the west
other Boer forces had similarly encircled Mafeking and
Kimberley, and sat down stolidly to the process of starving
them out. Finally, the Dutch areas of the Cape Colony it
self were quivering upon the verge of rebellion. Through
out the vast sub-continent every man's hand was against
his brother, and the British Government could, for the mo
ment, be sure of nothing beyond the gunshot of the Navy.

Although I knew neither our plan nor the enemy's situ
ation and all news of the day's disaster in Natal was still
suppressed, it was clear as soon as we had landed that the
first heavy fighting would come in Natal. Buller's Army
Corps would take a month or six weeks to assemble in Cape
Town and Port Elizabeth. There would be time to watch
the Natal operations and come back to Cape Colony for the
main advance. So I thought, and so, a few days later, to

240

THE ARMOURED TRAIN

his subsequent sorrow, thought Sir Redvers Buller. All traffic
through the Free State was of course interrupted, and to
reach Natal involved a railway journey of 700 miles by
De Aar Junction and Stormberg to Port Elizabeth, and
thence by a small mailboat or tug to Durban — four days in
all. The railroad from De Aar to Stormberg ran parallel to
the hostile frontier. It was quite undefended and might be
cut at any moment. However, the authorities thought there
was a good chance of getting through, so in company with
the correspondent of the Manchester Guardian, a charming
young man, Mr. J. B. Atkins, later the Editor of the Spec
tator > I started forthwith. Our train was in fact the last that
got round, and when we reached Stormberg the station staff
were already packing up.

We sailed from East London upon a steamer of about
150 tons, in the teeth of a horrible Antarctic gale. Indeed I
thought the little ship would be overwhelmed amid the
enormous waves or else be cast away upon the rocks which
showed their black teeth endlessly a bare mile away upon
our port beam. But all these misgivings were quickly dis
pelled by the most appalling paroxysms of sea-sickness which
it has ever been my lot to survive. I really do not think I
could have lifted a finger to save my life. There was a
stuffy cabin, or caboose, below decks in the stern of the
vessel, in which six or seven members of the crew lived,
slept and ate their meals. In a bunk of this I lay in an
extreme of physical misery while our tiny ship bounded and
reeled, and kicked and pitched, and fell and turned almost
over and righted itself again, or, for all I know, turned right
round, hour after hour through an endless afternoon, a still
longer evening and an eternal night. I remembered that Titus
Gates lived in good health for many years after his prodig
ious floggings, and upon this reflection, combined with a
firm trust that Providence would do whatever was best, were
founded such hopes as I could still retain.

There is an end to everything, and happily nothing fades

241

A ROVING COMMISSION

so quickly as the memory of physical pain. Still my voyage
to Durban is a recollection which, in the jingle of the 'Bab

Ballads'

*I shall carry to the catacombs of age,
Photographically lined
On the tablets of my mind,
When a yesterday has faded from its page.*

*****

We landed at Durban and travelled a night's journey to
Pietermaritzburg. The hospital was already full of wounded.
Here I found Reggie Barnes shot through the thigh. He had
been hit at dose range in our brilliant little victory at
Elandslaagte Station in which my friend Ian Hamilton, now
a General, had commanded. He told me all about the fight
ing and how skilful the Boers were with horse and rifle.
He also showed me his leg. No bone was broken, but it was
absolutely coal black from hip to toe. The surgeon reassured
me afterwards that it was only bruising, and not mortifica
tion as I feared. That night I travelled on to Estcourt, a
tiny tin township of a few hundred inhabitants, beyond
which the trains no longer ran.

It had been my intention to get into Ladysmith, where
I knew Ian Hamilton would look after me and give me a
good show. I was too late, the door was shut. The Boers
had occupied Colenso Station on the Tugela River and
held the iron railway bridge. General French and his staff,
which included both Haig and Herbert Lawrence,1 had
just slipped through under artillery fire in the last train
out of Ladysmith on his way to the Cape Colony, where
the main cavalry forces were to be assembled. There was
nothing to do but to wait at Estcourt with such handfuls
of troops as were being hurriedly collected to protect the
southern part of Natal from the impending Boer invasion.
A single battalion of Dublin Fusiliers, two or three guns
and a few squadrons of Natal Caribineers, two companies of

1Commander-in-Chief, and Chief of the Staff respectively in 1917-18.

242

THE ARMOURED TRAIN

Durban Light Infantry and an armoured train, were the
only forces which remained for the defence of the Colony.
All the rest of the Natal Army was blockaded in Ladysmith.
Reinforcements were hurrying to the spot from all parts of
the British Empire 5 but during the week I was at Estcourt
our weakness was such that we expected to be ourselves sur
rounded almost every day, and could do little but fortify our
post and wear a confident air.

At Estcourt I found old friends. Leo Amery, the monitor
I had unluckily pushed into the bathing pool at Harrow ten
years before, afterwards long my colleague in Parliament
and Government, was now one of the war correspondents of
the Times. We were able for the first time to meet on terms
of equality and fraternity, and together with my friend of
the Manchester Guardian we took up our abode in an empty
bell tent that stood in the shunting triangle of the railway
station. That evening, walking in the single street of the
town, whom should I meet but Captain Haldane^ who had
been so helpful in procuring me my appointment to Sir
William Lockhart's staff during the Tirah Expedition. Hal-
dane had been wounded at Elandslaagte, and had hoped to
rejoin his battalion of Gordon Highlanders in Ladysmith,
and tieing like me held up by the enemy, had been given the
temporary command of a company of the Dublin Fusiliejrs,
The days passed slowly and anxiously. The position of our
small force was most precarious. At any moment ten or
twelve thousand mounted Boers might sweep forward to
attack us or cut off our retreat. Yet it was necessary to hold
Estcourt as long and in as firm a posture as possible. Cavalry
reconnaissances were pushed out every morning for ten or
fifteen miles towards the enemy to give us timely notice of
their expected advance j and in an unlucky moment it oc
curred to the General in command on the spot to send his
armoured train along the sixteen miles of intact railway line
to supplement the efforts of the cavalry.

Nothing looks more formidable and impressive than aa

243

A ROVING COMMISSION

armoured train $ but nothing is in fact more vulnerable and
helpless. It was only necessary to blow up a bridge or culvert
to leave the monster stranded far from home and help, at
the mercy of the enemy. This situation did not seem to have
occurred to our commander. He decided to put a company
of the Dublin Fusiliers and a company of the Durban Light
Infantry into an armoured train of six trucks, and add a
small six-pounder naval gun with some sailors landed from
H.M.S. Terrible, together with a break-down gang, and to
send this considerable portion of his force out to recon
noitre towards Colenso. Captain Haldane was the officer he
selected for the duty of commanding this operation. Hal
dane told me on the night of November 14 of the task which
had been set him for the next day and on which he was to
start at dawn. He did not conceal his misgivings on the im
prudence of the enterprise, but he was of course, like every
one else at the beginning of a war, very keen upon adven
ture and a brush with the enemy. c Would I come with him?'
He would like it if I did! Out of comradeship, and because
r I thought it was my duty to gather as much information as
I could for the Morning Post, also because I was eager for
trouble, I accepted the invitation without demur.

The military events which followed are well known and
have often been discussed. The armoured train proceeded
about fourteen miles towards the enemy and got as far as
Chieveley station without a sign of opposition or indeed of
life or movement on the broad undulations of the Natal
landscape. We stopped for a few moments at Chieveley to
report our arrival at this point by telegraph to the General.
No sooner had we done this than we saw, on a hill between
us and home which overlooked the line at about 600 yards
distance, a number of small figures moving about and hurry
ing forward. Certainly they were Boers. Certainly they were
behind us. What would they be doing with the railway line?
There was not an instant to lose. We started immediately on
our return journey. As we approached the hill, I was stand-

*44

The Start

ft;7

The End
THE ARMOURED TRAIN

THE ARMOURED TRAIN

ing on a box with my head and shoulders above the steel
plating of the rear armoured truck. I saw a cluster of Boers
on the crest. Suddenly three wheeled things appeared among
them, and instantly bright flashes of light opened and shut
ten or twelve times. A huge white ball of smoke sprang into
being and tore out into a cone, only as it seemed a few feet
above my head. It was shrapnel — the first I had ever seen
in war, and very nearly the last! The steel sides of the truck
tanged with a patter of bullets. There was a crash from the
front of the train, and a series of sharp explosions. The rail
way line curved round the base of the hill on a steep down
gradient, and under the stimulus of the enemy's fire, as well
as of the slope, our pace increased enormously. The Boer
artillery (two guns and a pom-pom) had only time for one
discharge before we were round the corner out of their sight.
It had flashed across my mind that there must be some trap
farther on. I was just turning to Haldane to suggest that
someone should scramble along the train and make the en
gine-driver reduce speed, when suddenly there was a tre
mendous shock, and he and I and all the soldiers in the
truck were pitched head over heels on to its floor. The ar
moured train travelling at not less than forty miles an hour
had been thrown off the metals by some obstruction, or by
some injury to the line.

In our truck no one was seriously hurt, and it took but a
few seconds for me to scramble to my feet and look over the
top of the armour. The train lay in a valley about i^oo
yards on the homeward side of the enemy's hill. On the
top of this hill were scores of figures running forward and
throwing themselves down in the grass, from which there
came almost immediately an accurate and heavy rifle fire.
The bullets whistled overhead and rang and splattered on
the steel plates like a hailstorm. I got down from my perch,
and Haldane and I debated what to do. It was agreed that
he with the little naval gun and his Dublin Fusiliers in the
rear truck should endeavour to keep down the enemy's fir-

A ROVING COMMISSION

ing, and that I should go and see what had happened to the
train, what was the damage to the line, and whether there
was any chance of repairing it or clearing the wreckage out
of the way.

I nipped out of the truck accordingly and ran along the
line to the head of the train.1 The engine was still on the
rails. The first truck, an ordinary bogey, had turned com
pletely head over heels, killing and terribly injuring some
of the plate-layers who were upon it; but it lay quite clear
of the track. The next two armoured trucks, which contained
the Durban Light Infantry, were both derailed, one still up
right and the other on its side. They lay jammed against
each other in disorder, blocking the homeward path of the
rest. Behind the overturned trucks the Durban Light In
fantry men, bruised, shaken and some severely injured, had
found a temporary shelter. The enemy's fire was continu
ous, and soon there mingled with the rifles the bang of the
field guns and the near explosion of their shells. We were
in the toils of the enemy.

As I passed the engine another shrapnel burst immedi
ately as it seemed overhead, hurling its contents with a rasp
ing rush through the air. The driver at once sprang out of
the cab and ran to the shelter of the overturned trucks. His
face cut open by a splinter streamed with blood, and he com
plained in bitter, futile indignation. <He was a civilian. What
did they think he was paid for? To be killed by a bomb
shell— not he! He would not stay another minute.' It looked
as if his excitement and misery — he was dazed by the blow
on his head — would prevent him from working the engine
further, and as only he understood the machinery, the hope
of escape would thus be cut off. So I told him that no man
was hit twice on the same day: that a wounded man who
continued to do his duty was always rewarded for distin
guished gallantry, and that he might never have this chance

diagram on page 251.

246

THE ARMOURED TRAIN

again. On this he pulled himself together, wiped the blood
off his face, climbed back into the cab of his engine, and
thereafter obeyed every order which I gave him.1

I formed the opinion that it would be possible, using the
engine as a ram, to pull and push the two wrecked trucks
clear of the line, and consequently that escape for the whole
force was possible* The line appeared to be uninjured, no
rail had been removed. I returned along the line to Captain
Haldane's truck and told him through a loophole what was
the position and what I proposed we should do. He agreed
to all I said and undertook to keep the enemy hotly engaged
meanwhile.

I was very lucky in the hour that followed not to be hit.
It was necessary for me to be almost continuously moving
up and down the train or standing in the open, telling the
engine-driver what to do. The first thing was to detach the
truck which was half off the rails from the one completely
so. To do this the engine had to be removed so as to tug
the partly-derailed truck backwards along the line until it
was clear of the other wreckage, and then to throw it com
pletely off the rails. The dead weight of the iron truck half
on the sleepers was enormous, and the engine wheels skidded
vainly several times before any hauling power was obtained.
At last the truck was drawn sufficiently far back, and I called
for volunteers to overturn it from the side, while the engine
pushed it from the end. It was very evident that these men
would be exposed to considerable danger. Twenty were called
for and there was an immediate response, but only nine men,
including the Major of the Durban Light Infantry and four
or five of the Dublin Fusiliers, actually stepped out into the

*It was more than ten years before I was able to make good my promise.
Nothing was done for this man by the military authorities; but when in
1910 I was Home Secretary, it was my duty to advise the King upon the
awards of the Albert Medal. I therefore revived the old records, com
municated with the Governor of Natal and the railway company, and ulti
mately both the driver and his fireman received the highest reward for
gallantry open to civilians.

247

A ROVING COMMISSION

open. The attempt was nevertheless successful. The truck
heeled over further under their pressure, and the engine
giving a shove at the right moment, it fell off the line, and
the track seemed clear. Safety and success appeared in sight
together, but one of the bitterest disappointments of my life
overtook them.

The footplate of the engine was about 6 in. wider than
the tender and jammed against the corner of the newly
overturned truck. It did not seem safe to push very hard,
lest^the engine itself should be derailed. We uncoupled the
engine from the rear trucks, and time after time moved it
back a yard or two and butted forward at the obstruction.
Each time it moved a little, but soon it was evident that com
plications had set in. The newly-derailed truck had become
jammed in a "f"-shaped position with the one originally off
the line, and the more the engine pushed, the greater became
the block.

It occurred to me that if the trucks only jammed tighter
after the forward pushing, they might be loosened by again
pulling backwards. Now however a new difficulty arose.
The coupling chains of the engine would not reach by five or
six inches those of the overturned truck. Search was made
for a spare coupling. By a solitary gleam of good luck, one
was found. The engine hauled at the wreckage and before
the chain parted pulled it about a yard backwards and off
the track. Now surely the line was clear at last. But again
the corner of the engine footplate jammed with the corner
of the truck, and again we came to a jarring halt. The heat
and excitement of the work were such as to absorb me com
pletely. I remember thinking that it was like working in
front of an iron target at a rifle range at which men were
continually firing. We struggled for seventy minutes among
these clanging, rending iron boxes, amid the repeated ex
plosions of shells and the ceaseless hammering of bullets,
and with only five or six inches of twisted ironwork to make
the difference between danger, captivity and shame on the

248

THE ARMOURED TRAIN

one hand, and safety, freedom and triumph on the other.

Above all things we had to be careful not to throw the
engine off the line. But at last, as the artillery firing steadily
increased and the second gun came into action from the op
posite flank, I decided to run a great risk. The engine was
backed to its fullest extent and driven full tilt at the ob
struction. There was a harsh crunching tear, the engine
reeled on the rails, and as the obstructing truck reared up
wards ground its way past and gained the homeward side,
free and, as it turned out, safe. But our three remaining
trucks were fifty yards away, still the wrong side of the ob
struction, which had fallen back into its original place after
the engine had passed. What were we to do? Certainly we
could not take the engine back. Could we then drag the
trucks by hand up to the engine? They were narrower than
the engine and there would be just room for them to slip
past.

I went back again to Captain Haldane. He accepted the
plan. He ordered his men to climb out of their steel pen and
try to push it towards the engine. The plan was sound
enough, but it broke down under the force of circumstances.
The truck was so heavy that it required all hands to move
it j the fire was so hot and the confusion so great and increas
ing that the men drifted away from the exposed side. The
enemy, relieved of our counter-fire, were now plainly visible
in large numbers on the face of the hill, firing furiously. We
then agreed that the engine should go slowly back along the
line with all the wounded, who were now numerous, and
that the Dublins and the Durban men should retreat on foot,
sheltering themselves behind the engine which would go at
a foot's pace. Upwards of forty persons, of whom the greater
part were streaming with blood, were crowded on the en
gine and its tender, and we began to move slowly forward.
I was in the cab of the engine directing the engine-driver. It
was crammed so full of wounded men that one could scarcely
move. The shells burst all around, some striking the engine,

249

A ROVING COMMISSION

others dashing the gravel of the track upon it and its un
happy human freight. The pace increased, the infantry out
side began to lag and then to be left behind. At last I forced
the engine-driver to stop altogether, but before I could get
the engine stopped we were already 300 yards away from
our infantry. Close at hand was the bridge across the Blue
Krantz River, a considerable span. I told the engine-driver
to cross the bridge and wait on the other side, and forcing
my way out of the cab I got down on to the line and went
back along it to find Captain Haldane, and to bring him and
his Dublin Fusiliers along.

But while these events had been taking place everything
else had been in movement. I had not retraced my steps 200
yards when, instead of Haldane and his company, two fig
ures in plain clothes appeared upon the line. Tlate-layersP
I said to myself, and then with a surge of realization,
'Boers P My mind retains its impression of these tall figures,
full of energy, clad in dark, flapping clothes, with slouch,
storm-driven hats, poising on their levelled rifles hardly a
hundred yards away. I turned again and ran back towards
the engine, the two Boers firing as I ran between the metals.
Their bullets, sucking to right and left, seemed to miss only
by inches. We were in a small cutting with banks about six
feet high on either side. I flung myself against the bank of
the cutting. It gave no cover. Another glance at the two fig
ures $ one was now kneeling to aim. Movement seemed the
only chance. Again I darted forward: again two soft kisses
sucked in the air 5 but nothing struck me. This could not en
dure. I must get out of the cutting — that damnable corridor!
I jigged to the left, and scrambled up the bank. The earth
sprang up beside me. I got through the wire fence unhurt.
Outside the cutting was a tiny depression. I crouched in this,
struggling to get my breath again.

Fifty yards away was a small plate-layer's cabin of ma
sonry} there was cover there. About 200 yards away was the
rocky gorge of the Blue Krantz River } there was plenty of

250

J
1

A i

I \

A ROVING COMMISSION

cover there. I determined to make a dash for the river. I rose
to my feet. Suddenly on the other side of the railway, sepa
rated from me by the rails and two uncut wire fences, I saw
a horseman galloping furiously, a tall, dark figure, holding
his rifle in his right hand. He pulled up his horse almost in
its own length and shaking the rifle at me shouted a loud
command. We were forty yards apart. That morning I had
taken with me, Correspondent-status notwithstanding, my
Mauser pistol, I thought I could kill this man, and after the
treatment I had received I earnestly desired to do so. I put
my hand to my belt, the pistol was not there. When engaged
in clearing the line, getting in and out of the engine, etc., I
had taken it off. It came safely home on the engine. I have
it now! But at this moment I was quite unarmed. Mean
while, I suppose in about the time this takes to tell, the Boer
horseman, still seated on his horse, had covered me with his
rifle. The animal stood stock still, so did he, and so did I.
I looked towards the river, I looked towards the plate-layer's
hut. The Boer continued to look along his sights. I thought
there was absolutely no chance of escape, if he fired he
would surely hit me, so I held up my hands and surrendered
myself a prisoner of war.

'When one is alone and unarmed,' said the great Napo
leon, in words which flowed into my mind in the poignant
minutes that followed, fa surrender may be pardoned.' Still
he might have missed 5 and the Blue Krantz ravine was very
near and the two wire fences were still uncut. However, the
deed was done. Thereupon my captor lowered his rifle and
beckoned to me to come across to him. I obeyed. I walked
through the wire fences and across the line and stood by his
side. He sprang off his horse and began firing in the direc
tion of the bridge upon the retreating engine and a few
straggling British figures. Then when the last had disap
peared he remounted and at his side I tramped back towards
the spot where I had left Captain Haldane and his company.
I saw none of them. They were already prisoners. I noticed

252

THE ARMOURED TRAIN

that it was raining hard. As I plodded through the high
grass by the side of my captor a disquieting and timely re
flection came into my mind. I had two clips of Mauser am
munition, each holding ten rounds, in two little breast pockets
one on each side of my khaki coat. These cartridges were
the same as I had used at Omdurman, and were the only
kind supplied for the Mauser pistol. They were what are
called 'soft-nosed bullets.' I had never given them a thought
until now; and it was borne in upon me that they might be
a very dangerous possession. I dropped the right-hand clip
on the ground without being seen. I had got the left-hand
clip in my hand and was about to drop it, when my captor
looked down sharply and said in English cWhat have you
got there ?'

'What is it?' I said, opening the palm of my hand, 'I
picked it up.'

He took it,3 looked at it and threw it away. We continued
to plod on until we reached the general gang of prisoners
and found ourselves speedily in the midst of many hundreds
of mounted Boers who streamed into view, in long columns
of twos and threes, many holding umbrellas over their heads
in the pouring rain.

Such is the episode of the armoured train and the story of
my capture on November 15, 1899.

It was not until three years later, when the Boer Generals
visited England to ask for some loan or assistance on behalf
of their devastated country, that I was introduced at a pri
vate luncheon to their leader, General Botha. We talked of
the war and I briefly told the story of my capture. Botha
listened in silence^ then he said, 'Don't you recognise me?
I was that man. It was I who took you prisoner. I, myself,'
and his bright eyes twinkled with pleasure. Botha in white
shirt and frock coat looked very different in all save size and
darkness of complexion from the wild war-time figure I had

253

A ROVING COMMISSION

seen that rough day in Natal. But about the extraordinary
fact there can be no doubt. He had entered upon the invasion
of Natal as a burgher 5 his own disapproval of the war had
excluded him from any high command at its outset. This
was his first action. But as a simple private burgher serving
in the ranks he had galloped on ahead and in front of the
whole Boer forces in the ardour of pursuit. Thus we met.

Few men that I have known have interested me more
than Louis Botha. An acquaintance formed in strange cir
cumstances and upon an almost unbelievable introduction
ripened into a friendship which I greatly valued. I saw in
this grand, rugged figure, the Father of his country, the
wise and profound statesman, the farmer-warrior, the crafty
hunter of the wilderness, the deep, sure man of solitude.

In 1906 when, as newly-elected first Prime Minister of
the Transvaal, he came to London to attend the Imperial
Conference, a great banquet was given to the Dominion
Prime Ministers in Westminster Hall. I was Under Secre
tary of State for the Colonies, and as the Boer Leader, so
recently our enemy, passed up the hall to his place, he paused
to say to my mother, who stood by my side, 'He and I have
been out in all weathers.' It was surely true.

Space does not allow me here to recount the many im
portant matters of public business in which I was, over a
long period of years, brought in contact with this great man.
To me it was that he first disclosed his romantic project of
presenting the Cullinan Diamond — of purest water and at
least twenty times the size of any other — to the King. It fell
to my lot to expound the whole of the policy of giving self-
government to the Transvaal and the Orange Free State and
to conduct the Constitution Bills through the House of
Commons. Afterwards at the Board of Trade and at the Ad
miralty I was in frequent contact with General Botha and
his colleague Smuts, while they ruled their country with
such signal skill during the fifteen years from 1906 to the
end of the Great War.

254

THE ARMOURED TRAIN

Botha always felt he had a special call upon my attention.
Whenever he visited Europe we saw each other many times,
in council, at dinner, at home and in the public offices. His
unerring instinct warned him of the approach of the great
struggle. In 1913, when he returned from a visit to Ger
many where he had been taking the waters for a cure, he
warned me most earnestly of the dangerous mood prevail
ing there. 'Mind you are ready,' he said. 'Do not trust those
people. I know they are very dangerous. They mean you
mischief. I hear things you would not hear. Mind you have
all your ships ready. I can feel that there is danger in the
air. And what is more,' he added, 'when the day comes I am
going to be ready too. When they attack you, I am going to
attack German South- West Africa and clear them out once
and for all. I will be there to do my duty when the time
comes. But you, with the Navy, mind you are not caught by
surprise.'

Chance and romance continued to weave our fortunes to
gether in a strange way. On the 28th or 29th of July, 1914,
midway in the week of crisis which preceded the world ex
plosion, I was walking away from the House of Commons
after Question Time and met in Palace Yard one of the
South African Ministers, Mr. de Graaf, a very able Dutch
man whom I had known for a long time. 'What does it
mean? What do you think is going to happen?' he asked. 'I
think it will be war,' I replied, 'and I think Britain will be
involved. Does Botha know how critical it is?' De Graaf
went away looking very grave, and I thought no more of the
incident; but it had its consequences.

That night De Graaf telegraphed to Botha saying
'Churchill thinks war certain and Great Britain involved' or
words to that effect. Botha was away from the seat of gov
ernment y he was in the northern Transvaal, and General
Smuts was acting in his stead at Pretoria. The telegram was
laid before Smuts. He looked at it, pushed it on one side,
and continued working through his files of papers. Then

255

A ROVING COMMISSION

when he had finished he looked at it again. 'There must be
something in this/ he thought, 'or De Graaf would not have
telegraphed 3 ' and he repeated the telegram to the absent
Prime Minister in the northern Transvaal. It reached Gen
eral Botha many hours later, but it reached him in time.
That very night he was to start by train for Delagoa Bay,
and the next morning he was to embark for his return jour
ney to Cape Town on board a German sMp. But for this
telegram, so he afterwards told me, he would have been
actually at sea on a German vessel when war was declared.
The Prime Minister, the all-powerful national leader of
South Africa, would have been in the hands of the enemy
at the very moment when large areas of the South African
Union were trembling on the verge of rebellion. One cannot
measure the evils which might have come upon South Africa
had such a disaster taken place. Instantly on receiving the
message General Botha cancelled all his plans and returned
by special train to Pretoria, which he reached before the out
break and in time.

His grand exertions in the war, the risks he ran, the
steadfast courage which he showed, the great command he
exercised over his people, the brilliant manner in which he
over-ran German South- West Africa, his rugged animated
counsels at the meetings of the Imperial War Cabinet in
1917, his statesmanship and noble bearing after the victory
in the Peace Conference in Paris in 1919 — all these are mat
ters of history.

I was Secretary of State for War when he quitted Eng
land for the last time. He came to see me at the War Office
to say good-bye. We talked long about the ups and downs of
life and the tremendous and terrible events through which
we had safely passed. Many high personages from many
countries used in those days of victory to visit me at the War
Office, but there- was only one whom I myself conducted
down the great staircase and put with my own hands into
his waiting car. I never saw him again. His death followed

2,56

THE ARMOURED TRAIN

speedily on his return to his own country, of which in Peace
and War, in Sorrow and in Triumph, in Rebellion and in
Reconciliation, he had been a veritable saviour.

This considerable digression will, I hope, be pardoned by
the reader, and I make haste to return to the true path of
chronology. As I sat drenched and miserable on the ground
with the prisoners and some mortally-wounded men, I
cursed, not only my luck, but my own decision. I could quite
decently have gone off upon the engine. Indeed, I think,
from what was said about the affair by the survivors, I might
even have been extremely well received. I had needlessly
and by many exertions involved myself in a useless and
hopeless disaster. I had not helped anybody by attempting
to return to the Company. I had only cut myself out of the
whole of this exciting war with all its boundless possibilities
of adventure and advancement. I meditated blankly upon
the sour rewards of virtue. Yet this misfortune, could I have
foreseen the future, was to lay the foundations of my later
life. I was not to be done out of the campaign. I was not to
languish as a prisoner. I was to escape, and by escaping was
to gain a public reputation or notoriety which made me well-
known henceforward among my countrymen, and made me
acceptable as a candidate in a great many constituencies. I
was also put in the position to earn the money which for
many years assured my independence and the means of en
tering Parliament. Whereas if I had gone back on the en
gine, though I should perhaps have been praised and petted,
I might well have been knocked on the head at Colenso a
month later, as were several of my associates on Sir Redvers
Buller's Staff.

But these events and possibilities were hidden from me,
and it was in dudgeon that I ranged myself in the line of
prisoners before the swiftly-erected tent of the Boer head
quarters. My gloomy reflections took a sharper and a darker

257

A ROVING COMMISSION

turn when I found myself picked out from the other cap
tive officers and ordered to stand by myself apart. I had
enough military law to know that a civilian in a half uniform
who has taken an active and prominent part in a fight, even
if he has not fired a shot himself, is liable to be shot at once
by drumhead court martial. None of the armies in the Great
War would have wasted ten minutes upon the business. I
therefore stood solitary in the downpour, a prey to gnawing
anxiety. I occupied myself in thinking out what answers I
should make to the various short, sharp questions which
might soon be addressed to me, and what sort of appearance
I could keep up if I were soon and suddenly told that my
hour had come. After about a quarter of an hour of this I
was much relieved when, as a result of deliberations which
were taking place inside the tent, I was curtly told to rejoin
the others. Indeed I felt quite joyful when a few minutes
later a Boer field cornet came out of the tent and said, *We
are not going to let you go, old chappie, although you are
a correspondent. We don't catch the son of a lord every day.*
I need really never have been alarmed. The Boers were
the most humane people where white men were concerned.
Kaffirs were a different story, but to the Boer mind the de
struction of a white man's life, even in war, was a lamentable
and shocking event. They were the most good-hearted en
emy I have ever fought against in the four continents in
which it has been my fortune to see active service.

So it was settled that we were all to march off under
escort sixty miles to the Boer railhead at Elandslaagte and
to be sent to Pretoria as prisoners of war.

258

CHAPTER XX

IN DURANCE VILE

PRISONER of War! That is the least unfortunate kind of
prisoner to be, but it is nevertheless a melancholy state.
You are in the power of your enemy. You owe your life to
his humanity, and your daily bread to his compassion. You
must obey his orders, go where he tells you, stay where you
are bid, await his pleasure, possess your soul in patience.
Meanwhile the war is going on, great events are in progress,
fine opportunities for action and adventure are slipping
away. Also the days are very long. Hours crawl like paralytic
centipedes. Nothing amuses you. Reading is difficult, writ
ing, impossible. Life is one long boredom from dawn till
slumber.

Moreover, the whole atmosphere of prison, even the most
easy and best regulated prison, is odious. Companions in this
kind of misfortune quarrel about trifles and get the least pos
sible pleasure from each other's society. If you have never
been under restraint before and never known what it was to
be a captive, you feel a sense of constant humiliation in being
confined to a narrow space, fenced in by railings and wire,
watched by armed men, and webbed about with a tangle of
regulations and restrictions. I certainly hated every minute
of my captivity more than I have ever hated any other pe
riod in my whole life. Luckily it was very short. Less than
a month passed from the time when I yielded myself pris
oner in Natal till I was at large again, hunted but free, in
the vast sub-Continent of South Africa. Looking back on
those days I have always felt the keenest pity for prisoners
and captives. What it must mean for any man, especially an

259

A ROVING COMMISSION

educated man, to be confined for years in a modern convict
prison strains my imagination. Each day exactly like the one
before, with the barren ashes of wasted life behind, and all
the long years of bondage stretching out ahead. Therefore
in after years, when I was Home Secretary and had all the
prisons of England in my charge, I did my utmost consistent
with public policy to introduce some sort of variety and in
dulgence into the life of their inmates, to give to educated
minds books to feed on, to give to all periodical entertain
ments of some sort to look forward to and to look back upon,
and to mitigate as far as is reasonable the hard lot which, if
they have deserved, they must none the less endure. Al
though I loathed the business of one human being inflicting
frightful and even capital punishment upon others, I com
forted myself on some occasions of responsibility by the re
flection that a death sentence was far more merciful than a
life sentence.

Dark moods come easily across the mind of a prisoner.
Of course if he is kept on very low diet, chained in a dun
geon, deprived of light and plunged into solitude, his moods
only matter to himself. But when you are young, well fed,
high spirited, loosely guarded, able to conspire with others,
these moods carry thought nearer to resolve, and resolve
ever nearer to action.

It took us three days' journey by march and train to reach
our place of confinement at Pretoria from the front. We
tramped round the Boer lines besieging Ladysmith in sound
of the cannon, friendly and hostile, until we reached Eland-
slaagte station. Here our little party — Captain Haldane, a
very young lieutenant of the Dublins named Frankland,*
and myself — with about fifty men, were put into the train,
and we rumbled our way slowly for hundreds of miles into
the heart of the enemy's country. We were joined at an early
station by a trooper of the Imperial Light Horse who had

*An officer of great personal charm and ability. He was killed, as a Colo
nel, on the beaches of Gallipoli, April 25 v 1915.

hTdfls pri»on»ter» <!« train bKncl6 d'Eatwurt (Urfl ChwcbiU & gauche

ta Guerre Anjlo-Boer

w <z contemporary Trench picture-postcard

18tH NOVEMBER, AT PRETORIA

IN DURANCE VILE

been captured that day when on patrol. This man, whose
name was Brockie, was a South African Colonist. He passed
himself off to the Boers as an officer, and as he spoke Dutch
and Kaffir fluently and knew the country, we did not gain
say him. We thought he was the very man for us. We all
arrived at Pretoria on November i8, 1899. The men were
taken off to their cage on the race-course, and we four of
ficers were confined in the State Model Schools. Throughout
our journey we had repeatedly discussed in undertones, and
as occasion offered, plans for escape, and had resolved to
try our utmost to regain our freedom. Curiously enough
three out of our four at different times and in different cir
cumstances made their escape from the State Model Schools 5
and with one exception we were the only prisoners who ever
succeeded in getting away from them.

In the State Model Schools we found all the officers who
had been taken prisoner in the early fighting of the war, and
principally at Nicholson's Nek. We new arrivals were all
lodged in the same dormitory, and explored our abode with
the utmost care. We thought of nothing else but freedom,
and from morn till night we racked our brains to discover
a way of escape. We soon discovered the many defects in the
system by which we were held in custody. We had so much
liberty within our bounds, and were so free from observa
tion during the greater part of the day and night, that we
could pursue our aim unceasingly. We had not been there a
week before our original impulse to escape became merged
in a far more ambitious design.1

Gradually we evolved in deep consultation a scheme of
desperate and magnificent audacity. It arose naturally from
the facts of the case. We were ourselves in the State Model
Schools about sixty officer prisoners of war, and we had about
ten or eleven British soldier servants. Our guard consisted
of about forty 'Zarps' (South African Republic Police). Of
this guard ten were permanently on sentry-go on the four

*See plan on page 269.

A ROVING COMMISSION

sides of the enclosure in the centre of which the school build
ing stood. By day another ten were usually off duty and out
in the townj while the rest remained cleaning their equip
ment, smoking, playing cards and resting in their guard tent.
This guard tent was pitched in one corner of the quadrangu
lar enclosure j and in it by night the whole thirty 'Zarps' not
on duty slept the sleep of the just.

If this guard could be overpowered and disarmed, a very
important step would have been taken. It became extremely
necessary at the outset to learn how they disposed themselves
for the night, what they did with their rifles and revolvers,
what proportion of them lay down in their accoutrements,
fully armed or armed at least with their revolvers. Careful
investigations were made both by day and by night. In the
result it was ascertained that practically all the guard not
required for duty rolled themselves up in their blankets and
slept in two rows on either side of the marquee. Those who
were not wanted for sentry-go that night took off their boots
and most of their clothes. Even those who were expecting to
relieve their comrades in an hour or two took off their tunics,
their boots, and above all their belts. Their rifles and ban
doliers were stacked and hung around the two tent-poles in
improvised racks. There were therefore periods in the night,
midway between the changes of the guard, when these thirty
men, sleeping without any protection other than the tent
wall, within fifty yards of sixty determined and athletic of
ficers, were by no means so safe as they supposed.

The entrance of the guard tent was watched by a sentry.
Who shall say what is possible or impossible? In these spheres
of action one cannot tell without a trial. It did not seem impos
sible that this sentry might be engaged in conversation by a
couple of officers on some story or other, either about some
thing alarming that had happened or of someone who was
suddenly ill, while at the same time two or three deter
mined prisoners could enter the back of the guard tent by a
slit in the canvas, possess themselves of pistols or rifles from

262

IN DURANCE VILE

the rack, and hold up the whole guard as they awoke from
their slumbers. The armed sentry at the entrance would have
to be seized in the moment of surprise. To master the guard
without a shot being fired or an alarm given was a problem
of extreme difficulty and hazard. All one could say about
such an enterprise was that the history of war — and I must
add, crime — contains many equally unexpected and auda
cious strokes. If this were achieved, it would only be the first
step.

The ten armed sentries on duty were the second step.
This phase was complicated by the fact that three of these
men were posted outside the spiked railing of the enclosure.
They were only a yard away from it, and would often stand
leaning against it by day, chatting. But at night no such oc
casion would arise, and they were therefore ungetatable and
outside the lions' den. All the rest were inside. Each of these
ten men (three outside and seven in) was a proposition re
quiring a special study.

It did not follow that the enterprise would be wrecked
if one or two of them got off and gave the alarm. Once the
guard were overpowered and their rifles and pistols dis
tributed, we should have become an armed force superior in
numbers — and we believed superior also in discipline and
intelligence — to any organized body of Boers who could or
would be brought against us for at least half an hour. Much
may happen in half an hour! It seemed obvious that about
two o'clock in the morning, half-way through the middle
watch, was the most favourable moment. If every British
officer did exactly what he ought to do at the right moment,
and if nothing miscarried, it seemed fair to hope that, mak
ing reasonable allowance for slips in minor matters, we might
be masters of the State Model Schools.

The whole enclosure was brightly and even brilliantly
lighted by electric lights on tall standards. But the wires on
which these lights depended were discovered by us to pass
through the dormitories we occupied in the State Model

263

A ROVING COMMISSION

School building. One of our number versed in such matters
declared his ability to disconnect them at any moment and
plunge the whole place in pitch darkness 5 and this in fact
was momentarily done one might as an experiment. If this
could be effected say a minute after the hold-up in the guard
tent was signalled, the seizure of the sentries on duty, ut
terly bewildered at what was taking place, might not be so
difficult as it seemed. Lastly, the gymnasium of the State
Model Schools contained a good supply of dumb-bells. Who
shall say that three men in the dark, armed with dumb
bells, desperate and knowing what they meant to do, are not
a match for one man who, even though he is armed, is un
suspecting and ignorant of what is taking place? If once we
could surprise the guard and overcome and disarm the ma
jority of the sentries, if once we could have thirty officers
armed with revolvers and thirty more armed with rifles in
the heart of Pretoria, the enemy's capital, the first and by
far the hardest phase in a great and romantic enterprise
would have been achieved. What next?

A mile and a half away from the State Model Schools was
the Pretoria race-course, and in this barbed wire enclosure
upwards of two thousand British prisoners — soldiers and
non-commissioned officers — were confined. We were in touch
with these men and would be able to concert plans with
them. Our channel of communication was a simple one.
Some of the ten or eleven servants assigned to the officers
in the State Model Schools from time to time gave cause for
dissatisfaction, and were sent back to the race-course and
replaced by others. Thus we knew regularly the feelings of
these two thousand British soldiers and the conditions under
which they were confined. We learned that they were ex
tremely discontented. Their life was monotonous, their ra
tions short, their accommodation poor. They were hungry
and resentful. On one occasion they had surged up towards
the guard at the entrance, and although no bloodshed had
taken place, we knew that the Boers had been much exercised

264

IN DURANCE VILE

by the problem of keeping so many men in check. Our in
formation told us that there were only about one hundred
and twenty 'Zarps' with two machine-guns in charge of this
large prisoners' cage. Such a force, if fully prepared, could
no doubt have quenched any mutiny in blood. But suppose
at the moment when the prisoners rose, the race-course guard
was attacked from behind by sixty armed officers! Suppose
the machine-guns were rushed from the rear! Suppose the
whole two thousand, acting on a definite plan, attacked from
the front! Who shall say that in the confusion and the night
numbers and design would not have prevailed? If this were
so, the second phase of the enterprise would in its turn have
attained success. What then?

In the whole of Pretoria there were not five hundred men
capable of bearing arms 5 and these for the most part were
well-to-do burghers who had obtained exemption from the
front, men unfit to go on commando, officials of the Gov
ernment, clerks in the Government offices, etc. These were
nominally formed into a town guard and had had rifles
served out to them. Beyond this, organisation did not run.
If the first step could have been taken, the second would
have been far easier, and the third easier still. In imagina
tion we saw ourselves masters of the enemy's capital. The
forts were held only by caretakers. Everyone else was at the
front. The guns of the forts all faced outwards. They were
not defended in any effectual way from an attack from the
rear. Had we been successful in obtaining control of the
town, the occupation of the forts would have been easy,
would have followed in fact as a natural consequence. The
nearest British army was three hundred miles away. But if
all had gone well, we should by a wave of the wand have
been in possession of the enemy's fortified capital, with an
adequate force and plenty of food and ammunition for a
defence at least as long as that of Mafeking.

The whole of this would have taken place between dusk
and dawn. How long should we have had before we were

265

A ROVING COMMISSION

attacked? We thought that several days might certainly be
secured. We should hold the central railway junction of the
South African Republic. Here the railways north, east, and
south were joined together. We could send a train down
each of these lines as far as was prudent — perhaps forty or
fifty miles, perhaps more — and then come back blowing up
every bridge and culvert behind us. In the time thus gained
the defence of the town could be effectually organised. Sup
pose this thing happened! Suppose the Boer armies woke up
to find their capital was in the hands of the masses of pris
oners of war whom they had so incautiously accumulated
there without an adequate garrison! How many men would
they have to detach to besiege it? The kind of fighting in
which the Boers excelled required the open country. They
never succeeded during the whole war in reducing any strong
places. Kimberley, Mafeking, Ladysmith are examples.
Wherever they came up against trenches and fixed positions,
they had recoiled. The theatre in which they were so formi
dable was the illimitable veldt. If we got Pretoria we could
hold it for months. And what a feat of arms! President
Kruger and his Government would be prisoners in our hands.
He had talked of 'staggering humanity.' But here indeed
was something to stagger him.

Perhaps with these cards in our hands we could negotiate
an honourable peace, and end the struggle by a friendly and
fair arrangement which would save the armies marching and
fighting. It was a great dream. It occupied our thoughts for
many days. Some ardent spirits went so far as to stitch to
gether a Union Jack for use 'on the day.5 But all remained
a dream. The two or three senior officers who were prisoners
with us, on being apprised of our plans, pronounced de
cidedly against them 5 and I shall certainly not claim that
they were wrong. One is reminded of the comic opera. The
villain impressively announces: 'Twelve thousand armed
muleteers are ready to sack the town.' 'Why don't they do
it?' he is asked. 'The Police won't let them.' Yes, there was

266

IN DURANCE VILE

the rub. Ten men awake and armed may be a small obstacle
to a great scheme, but in this case, as in so many others, they
were decisive. We abandoned our collective designs and con
centrated upon individual plans of escape.

267

CHAPTER XXI
I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS— I

DURING the first three weeks of my captivity, although
I was a party to all plans of revolt or escape, I was en
gaged in arguing with the Boer Authorities that they should
release me as a Press Correspondent. They replied that I
had forfeited my non-combatant status by the part I had
taken in the armoured train fight. I contended that I had not
fired a shot and had been taken unarmed. This was strictly
true. But the Natal newspapers had been captured by the
Boers. These contained glowing accounts of my activities,
and attributed the escape of the engine and the wounded
entirely to me. General Joubert therefore intimated that
even if I had not fired a shot myself, I had injured the
Boer operations by freeing the engine, and that I must there
fore be treated as a prisoner-of-war. As soon as I learned
of this decision, in the first week of December, I resolved to
escape.

I shall transcribe what I wrote at the time where I cannot
improve upon it.

'The State Model Schools stood in the midst of a quad
rangle, and were surrounded on two sides by an iron grille
and on two by a corrugated-iron fence about ten feet high.
These boundaries offered little obstacle to anyone who pos
sessed the activity of youth, but the fact that they were
guarded on the inside by sentries, fifty yards apart, armed
with rifle and revolver, made them a well-nigh insuperable
barrier. No walls are so hard to pierce as living walls.

cAfter anxious reflection and continual watching, it was
discovered by several of the prisoners that when the sentries
along the eastern side walked about on their beats they were
at certain moments unable to see the top of a few yards of
the wall near the small circular lavatory office which can be

268

A ROVING COMMISSION

seen on the plan. The electric lights in the middle of the
quadrangle brilliantly lighted the whole place, but the east
ern wall was in shadow. The first thing was therefore to pass
the two sentries near the office. It was necessary to hit off the
exact moment when both their backs should be turned to
gether. After the wall was scaled we should be in the garden
of the villa next door. There the plan came to an end.
Everything after this was vague and uncertain. How to get
out of the garden, how to pass unnoticed through the streets,
how to evade the patrols that surrounded the town, and
above all how to cover the two hundred and eighty miles to
the Portuguese frontier, were questions which would arise
at a later stage.'

'Together with Captain Haldane and Lieutenant Brockie
I made an abortive attempt, not pushed with any decision,
on December n. There was no difficulty in getting into the
circular office. But to climb out of it over the wall was a
hazard of the sharpest character. Anyone doing so must at
the moment he was on the top of the wall be plainly visible
to the sentries fifteen yards away, if they were in the right
place and happened to look! Whether the sentries would
challenge or fire depended entirely upon their individual
dispositions, and no one could tell what they would do. Nev
ertheless I was determined that nothing should stop my
taking the plunge the next day. As the I2th wore away my
fears crystallized more and more into desperation. In the
evening, after my two friends had made an attempt, but had
not found the moment propitious, I strolled across the quad
rangle and secreted myself in the circular office. Through an
aperture in the metal casing of which it was built I watched
the sentries. For some time they remained stolid and obstruc
tive. Then all of a sudden one turned and walked up to his
comrade, and they began to talk. Their backs were turned.'

'Now or never! I stood on a ledge, seized the top of the
wall with my hands, and drew myself up. Twice I let myself

270

I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS 1

down again in sickly hesitation, and then with a third resolve
scrambled up and over. My waistcoat got entangled with the
ornamental metal-work on the top. I had to pause for an ap
preciable moment to extricate myself. In this posture I had
one parting glimpse of the sentries still talking with their
backs turned fifteen yards away. One of them was lighting his
cigarette, and I remember the glow on the inside of his hands
as a distinct impression which my mind recorded. Then I
lowered myself lightly down into the adjoining garden and
crouched among the shrubs. I was free! The first step had
been taken, and it was irrevocable. It now remained to await
the arrival of my comrades. The bushes in the garden gave a
good deal of cover, and in the moonlight their shadows fell
dark on the ground. I lay here for an hour in great impatience
and anxiety. People were continually moving about in the
garden, and once a man came and apparently looked straight
at me only a few yards away. Where were the others? Why
did they not make the attempt?'

'Suddenly I heard a voice from within the quadrangle say,
quite loud, "All up." I crawled back to the wall. Two officers
were walking up and down inside, jabbering Latin words,
laughing and talking all manner of nonsense — amid which I
caught my name. I risked a cough. One of the officers im
mediately began to chatter alone. The other said, slowly and
clearly, "They cannot get out. The sentry suspects. It's all up.
Can you get back again ?" But now all my fears fell from me
at once. To go back was impossible. I could not hope to climb
the wall unnoticed. There was no helpful ledge on the out
side. Fate pointed onwards. Besides, I said to myself, "Of
course, I shall be recaptured, but I will at least have a run for
my money." I said to the officers, "I shall go on alone."

cNow I was in the right mood for these undertakings —
failure being almost certain, no odds against success affected
me. All risks were less than the certainty. A glance at the plan
will show that the gate which led into the road was only a few

271

A ROVING COMMISSION

yards from another sentry. I said to myself, " Tou jours de
Vaudace" put my hat on my head, strode into the middle of
the garden, walked past the windows of the house without any
attempt at concealment, and so went through the gate and
turned to the left. I passed the sentry at less than five yards.
Most of them knew me by sight. Whether he looked at me or
not I do not know, for I never turned my head. I restrained
with the utmost difficulty an impulse to run. But after walk
ing a hundred yards and hearing no challenge, I knew that
the second obstacle had been surmounted. I was at large in
Pretoria.

CI walked on leisurely through the night, humming a tune
and choosing the middle of the road. The streets were full
of burghers, but they paid no attention to me. Gradually I
reached the suburbs, and on a little bridge I sat down to re
flect and consider. I was in the heart of the enemy's country.
I knew no one to whom I could apply for succour. Nearly
three hundred miles stretched between me and Delagoa Bay.
My escape must be known at dawn. Pursuit would be immedi
ate. Yet all exits were barred. The town was picketed, the
country was patrolled, the trains were searched, the line was
guarded. I wore a civilian brown flannel suit. I had seventy-
five pounds in my pocket and four slabs of chocolate, but the
compass and the map which might have guided me, the opium
tablets and meat lozenges which should have sustained me,
were in my friends' pockets in the State Model Schools. Worst
of all, I could not speak a word of Dutch or Kaffir, and how
was I to get food or direction?

cBut when hope had departed, fear had gone as well. I
formed a plan. I would find the Delagoa Bay Railway. With
out map or compass, I must follow that in spite of the pickets.
I looked at the stars. Orion shone brightly. Scarcely a year
before lie had guided me when lost in the desert to the banks
of the Nile. He had given me water. Now he should lead to
freedom. I could not endure the want of either.

cAf ter wzOking south for half a mile I struck the railroad

272

I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS 1

Was it the line to Delagoa Bay or the Pietersburg branch? If
it were the former, it should run east. But, so far as I could
see, this line ran northwards. Still, it might be only winding
its way out among the hills. I resolved to follow it. The night
was delicious. A cool breeze fanned my face, and a wild feel
ing of exhilaration took hold of me. At any rate, I was free,
if only for an hour. That was something. The fascination of
the adventure grew. Unless the stars in their courses fought
for me, I could not escape. Where, then, was the need of cau
tion? I marched briskly along the line. Here and there the
lights of a picket fire gleamed. Every bridge had its watchers.
But I passed them all, making very short detours at the dan
gerous places, and really taking scarcely any precautions. Per
haps that was the reason I succeeded.

*As I walked I extended my plan. I could not march three
hundred miles to the frontier. I would board a train in motion
and hide under the seats, on the roof, on the couplings — any
where. I thought of Paul Bultitude's escape from school in
Vice Versa. I saw myself emerging from under the seat, and
bribing or persuading some' fat first-class passenger to help me.
What train should I take? The first, of course. After walking
for two hours I perceived the signal lights of a station. I left
the line, and circling round it, hid in the ditch by the track
about two hundred yards beyond the platform. I argued that
the train would stop at the station and that it would not have
got up too much speed by the time it reached me. An hour
passed. I began to grow impatient. Suddenly I heard the whis
tle and the approaching rattle. Then the great yellow head
lights of the engine flashed into view. The train waited five
minutes at the station, and started again with much noise and
steaming. I crouched by the track. I rehearsed the act in my
mind. I must wait until the engine had passed, otherwise I
should be seen. Then I must make a dash for the carriages.

'The train started slowly, but gathered speed sooner than
I- had expected. The flaring lights drew swiftly near. The
rattle became a roar. The dark mass hung for a second above

273

A ROVING COMMISSION

me. The engine-driver silhouetted against his furnace glow,
the black profile of the engine, the clouds of steam rushed
past. Then I hurled myself on the trucks, clutched at some
thing, missed, clutched again, missed again, grasped some sort
of hand-hold, was swung off my feet — my toes bumping on
the line, and with a struggle seated myself on the couplings
of the fifth truck from the front of the train. It was a goods
train, and the trucks were full of sacks, soft sacks covered with
coal-dust. They were in fact bags filled with empty coal bags
going back to their colliery. I crawled on top and burrowed in
among them. In five minutes I was completely buried. The
sacks were warm and comfortable. Perhaps the engine-driver
had seen me rush up to the train and would give the alarm at
the next station 5 on the other hand, perhaps not. Where was
the train going to? Where would it be unloaded? Would it be
searched? Was it on the Delagoa Bay line? What should I do
in the morning? Ah, never mind that. Sufficient for the night
was the luck thereof. Fresh plans for fresh contingencies. I
resolved to sleep, nor can I imagine a more pleasing lullaby
than the clatter of the train that carries an escaping prisoner
at twenty miles an hour away from the enemy's capital.

'How long I slept I do not know, but I woke up suddenly
with all feelings of exhilaration gone, and only the conscious
ness of oppressive difficulties heavy on me. I must leave the
train before daybreak, so that I could drink at a pool and find
some hiding-place while it was still dark. I would not run
the risk of being unloaded with the coal bags. Another night
I would board another train. I crawled from my cosy hiding-
place among the sacks and sat again on the couplings. The
train was running at a fair speed, but I felt it was time to
leave it I took hold of the iron handle at the back of the
truck, pulled strongly with my left hand, and sprang. My
feet struck the ground in two gigantic strides, and the next
instant I was sprawling in the ditch considerably shaken but
unhurt. The train, my faithful ally of the night, hurried on
its journey.

274

I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS 1

<It was still dark. I was in the middle of a wide valley,
surrounded by low hills, and carpeted with high grass
drenched in dew. I searched for water in the nearest gully,
and soon found a clear pool. I was very thirsty, but long
after I had quenched my thirst I continued to drink, that I
might have sufficient for the whole day.

'Presently the dawn began to break, and the sky to the
east grew yellow and red, slashed across with heavy black
clouds. I saw with relief that the railway ran steadily to
wards the sunrise. I had taken the right line, after all.

'Having drunk my fill, I set out for the hills, among which
I hoped to find some hiding-place, and as it became broad
daylight I entered a small grove of trees which grew on the
side of a deep ravine. Here I resolved to wait till dusk. I
had one consolation: no one in the world knew where I was
— I did not know myself. It was now four o'clock. Fourteen
hours lay between me and the night. My impatience to pro
ceed while I was still strong doubled their length. At first
it was terribly cold, but by degrees the sun gained power,
and by ten o'clock the heat was oppressive. My sole com
panion was a gigantic vulture, who manifested an extrava
gant interest in my condition, and made hideous and omin
ous gurglings from time to time. From my lofty position I
commanded a view of the whole valley. A little tin-roofed
town lay three miles to the westward. Scattered farmsteads,
each with a dump of trees, relieved the monotony of the
undulating ground. At the foot of the hill stood a Kaffir
kraal, and the figures of its inhabitants dotted the patches of
cultivation or surrounded the droves of goats and cows which
fed on the pasture. . . . During the day I ate one slab of
chocolate, which, with the heat, produced a violent thirst.
The pool was hardly half a mile away, but I dared not leave
the shelter of the little wood, for I could see the figures of
white men riding or walking occasionally across the valley,
and once a Boer came and fired two shots at birds close to
my hiding-place. But no one discovered me.

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'The elation and the excitement of the previous night had
burnt away, and a chilling reaction followed. I was very
hungry, for I had had no dinner before starting, and choco
late, though it sustains, does not satisfy. I had scarcely slept,
but yet my heart beat so fiercely and I was so nervous and
perplexed about the future that I could not rest. I thought
of all the chances that lay against me; I dreaded and de
tested more than words can express the prospect of being
caught and dragged back to Pretoria. I found no comfort in
any of the philosophical ideas which some men parade in
their hours of ease and strength and safety. They seemed
only fair-weather friends. I realised with awful force that no
exercise of my own feeble wit and strength could save me
from my enemies, and that without the assistance of that
High Power which interferes in the eternal sequence of
causes and effects more often than we are always prone to
admit, I could never succeed. I prayed long and earnestly
for help and guidance. My prayer, as it seems to me, was
swiftly and wonderfully answered.'

I wrote these lines many years ago while the impression
of the adventure was strong upon me. Then I could tell no
more. To have done so would have compromised the liberty
and perhaps the lives of those who had helped me. For many
years these reasons have disappeared. The time has come
when I can relate the events which followed, and which
changed my nearly hopeless position into one of superior ad
vantage.

During the day I had watched the railway with attention.
I saw two or three trains pass along it each way. I argued
that the same number would pass at night. I resolved to
board one of these. I thought I could improve on my pro
cedure of the previous evening. I had observed how slowly
the trains, particularly long goods-trains, climbed some of
the steep gradients. Sometimes they were hardly going at a
foot's pace. It would probably be easy to choose a point where

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I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS- 1

the line was not only on an up grade but also on a curve.
Thus I could board some truck on the convex side of the
train when both the engine and the guard's van were bent
away, and when consequently neither the engine-driver nor
the guard would see me. This plan seemed to me in every
respect sound. I saw myself leaving the train again before
dawn, having been carried forward another sixty or seventy
miles during the night. That would be scarcely one hundred
and fifty miles from the frontier. And why should not the
process be repeated? Where was the flaw? I could not see it.
With three long bounds on three successive nights I could
be in Portuguese territory. Meanwhile I still had two or
three slabs of chocolate and a pocketful of crumbled biscuit
— enough, that is to say, to keep body and soul together at
a pinch without running the awful risk of recapture entailed
by accosting a single human being. In this mood I watched
with increasing impatience the arrival of darkness.

The long day reached its close at last. The western clouds
flushed into fire 5 the shadows of the hills stretched out across
the valley 5 a ponderous Boer wagon with its long team
crawled slowly along the track towards the township j the
Kaffirs collected their herds and drew them round their
kraal 5 the daylight died, and soon it was quite dark. Then,
and not until then, I set forth. I hurried to the railway line,
scrambling along through the boulders and high grass and
pausing on my way to drink at a stream of sweet cold water.
I made my way to the place where I had seen the trains
crawling so slowly up the slope, and soon found a point
where the curve of the track fulfilled all the conditions of
my plan. Here, behind a little bush, I sat down and waited
hopefully. An hour passed} two hours passed} three hours
— and yet no train. Six hours had now elapsed since the last,
whose time I had carefully noted, had gone by. Surely one
was due. Another hour slipped away. Still no train! My plan
began to crumble and my hopes to ooze out of me. After all,
was it not quite possible that no trains ran on this part of the

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line during the dark hours? This was in fact the case, and I
might well have continued to wait in vain till daylight. How
ever, between twelve and one in the morning I lost patience
and started along the track, resolved to cover at any rate ten
or fifteen miles of my journey. I did not make much prog
ress. Every bridge was guarded by armed men 5 every few
miles were huts. At intervals there were stations with tin-
roofed villages clustering around them. All the veldt was
bathed in the bright rays of the full moon, and to avoid
these dangerous places I had to make wide circuits and even
to creep along the ground. Leaving the railroad I fell into
bogs and swamps, brushed through high grass dripping with
dew, and waded across the streams over which the bridges
carried the railway. I was soon drenched to the waist. I had
been able to take very little exercise during my month's im
prisonment, and I was quickly tired with walking and with
want of food and sleep. Presently I approached a station. It
was a mere platform in the veldt, with two or three build
ings and huts around it. But laid up on the sidings, obviously
for the night, were three long goods-trains. Evidently the
flow of traffic over the railway was uneven. These three
trains, motionless in the moonlight, confirmed my fears that
traffic was not maintained by night on this part of the line.
Where, then, was my plan which in the afternoon had looked
so fine and sure?

It now occurred to me that I might board one of these
stationary trains immediately, and hiding amid its freight
be carried forward during the next day — and night too if all
were well. On the other hand, where were they going to?
Where would they stop? Where would they be unloaded?
Once I entered a wagon my lot would be cast. I might find
myself ignominiously unloaded and recaptured at Witbank
or Middleburg, or at any station in the long two hundred
miles which separated me from the frontier. It was necessary
at all costs before taking such a step to find out where these
trains were going. To do this I must penetrate the station,

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I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS 1

examine the labels on the trucks or on the merchandise, and
see if I could extract any certain guidance from them. I crept
up to the platform and got between two of the long trains
on the siding. I was proceeding to examine the markings on
the trucks when loud voices rapidly approaching on the out
side of the trains filled me with fear. Several Kaffirs were
laughing and shouting in their unmodulated tones, and I
heard, as I thought, a European voice arguing or ordering.
At any rate, it was enough for me. I retreated between the
two trains to the extreme end of the siding, and slipped
stealthily but rapidly into the grass of the illimitable plain.

There was nothing for it but to plod on — but in an in
creasingly purposeless and hopeless manner. I felt very mis
erable when I looked around and saw here and there the
lights of houses and thought of the warmth and comfort
within them, but knew that they meant only danger to me.
Far off on the moonlit horizon there presently began to
shine the row of six or eight big lights which marked either
Witbank or Middleburg station. Out in the darkness to my
left gleamed two or three fires. I was sure they were not the
lights of houses, but how far off they were or what they
were I could not be certain. The idea formed in my mind
that they were the fires of a Kaffir kraal. Then I began to
think that the best use I could make of my remaining
strength would be to go to these Kaffirs. I had heard that
they hated the Boers and were friendly to the British. At
any rate, they would probably not arrest me. They might
give me food and a dry corner to sleep in. Although I could
not speak a word of their language, yet I thought perhaps
they might understand the value of a British bank-note.
They might even be induced to help me. A guide, a pony
— but, above all, rest, warmth, and food — such were the
promptings which dominated my mind. So I set out towards
the fires.

I must have walked a mile or so in this resolve before a
realisation of its weakness and imprudence took possession of

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me. Then I turned back again to the railway line and re
traced my steps perhaps half the distance. Then I stopped
and sat down, completely baffled, destitute of any idea what
to do or where to turn. Suddenly without the slightest rea
son all my doubts disappeared. It was certainly by no process
of logic that they were dispelled. I just felt quite clear that
I would go to the Kaffir kraal. I had sometimes in former
years held a Tlanchette' pencil and written while others had
touched my wrist or hand. I acted in exactly the same un
conscious or subconscious manner now.

I walked on rapidly towards the fires, which I had in the
first instance thought were not more than a couple of miles
from the railway line. I soon found they were much farther
away than that. After about an hour or an hour and a half
they still seemed almost as far off as ever. But I persevered,
and presently between two and three o'clock in the morning
I perceived that they were not the fires of a Kaffir kraal. The
angular outline of buildings began to draw out against them,
and soon I saw that I was approaching a group of houses
around the mouth of a coal-mine. The wheel which worked
the winding gear was plainly visible, and I could see that the
fires which had led me so far were from the furnaces of the
engines. Hard by, surrounded by one or two slighter struc
tures, stood a small but substantial stone house two storeys
high.

I halted in the wilderness to survey this scene and to re
volve my action. It was still possible to turn back. But in
that direction I saw nothing but the prospect of further futile
wanderings terminated by hunger, fever, discovery, or sur
render. On the other hand, here in front was a chance. I had
heard it said before I escaped that in the mining district of
Witbank and Middleburg there were a certain number of
English residents who had been suffered to remain in the
country in order to keep the mines working. Had I been led
to one of these? What did this house which frowned dark
and inscrutable upon me contain? A Briton or a Boerj a

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I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS 1

friend or a foe? Nor did this exhaust the possibilities. I had
my seventy-five pounds in English notes in my pocket. If I
revealed my identity, I thought that I could give reasonable
assurance of a thousand. I might find some indifferent neu
tral-minded person who out of good nature or for a large
sum of money would aid me in my bitter and desperate
need. Certainly I would try to make what bargain I could
now — now while I still had the strength to plead my cause
and perhaps to extricate myself if the results were adverse.
Still the odds were heavy against me, and it was with falter
ing and reluctant steps that I walked out of the shimmering
gloom of the veldt into the light of the furnace fires, ad
vanced towards the silent house, and struck with my fist upon
the door.

There was a pause. Then I knocked again. And almost
immediately a light sprang up above and an upper window
opened.

cWer ist da?y cried a man's voice.

I felt the shock of disappointment and consternation to
my fingers.

*I want helpj I have had an accident,' I replied.

Some muttering followed. Then I heard steps descending
the stairs, the bolt of the door was drawn, the lock was
turned. It was opened abruptly, and in the darkness of the
passage a tall man hastily attired, with a pale face and dark
moustache, stood before me.

'What do you want?' he said, this time in English.

I had now to think of something to say. I wanted above
all to get into parley with this man, to get matters in such a
state that instead of raising an alarm and summoning others
he would discuss things quietly.

'I am a burgher,' I began. CI have had an accident. I was
going to join my commando at Komati Poort. I have fallen
off the train. We were skylarking. I have been unconscious
for hours. I think I have dislocated my shoulder.'

It is astonishing how one thinks of these things. This

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A ROVING COMMISSION

story leapt out as if I had learnt it by heart. Yet I had not
the slightest idea what I was going to say or what the next
sentence would be.

The stranger regarded me intently, and after some hesi
tation said at length, 'Well, come in.' He retreated a little
into the darkness of the passage, threw open a door on one
side of it, and pointed with his left hand into a dark room.
I walked past him and entered, wondering if it was to be
my prison. He followed, struck a light, lit a lamp, and set
it on the table at the far side of which I stood. I was in a
small room, evidently a dining-room and office in one. I
noticed besides the large table, a roll desk, two or three chairs,
and one of those machines for making soda-water, consisting
of two glass globes set one above the other and encased in
thin wire-netting. On his end of the table my host had laid
a revolver, which he had hitherto presumably been holding
in his right hand.

CI think I'd like to know a little more about this railway
accident of yours,' he said, after a considerable pause.

'I think,' I replied, CI had better tell you the truth.'

'I think you had,' he said, slowly.

So I took the plunge and threw all I had upon the board.

CI am Winston Churchill, War Correspondent of the
Morning Post. I escaped last night from Pretoria. I am mak
ing my way to the frontier.' (Making my way! ) CI have
plenty of money. Will you help me?'

There was another long pause. My companion rose from
the table slowly and locked the door. After this act, which
struck me as unpromising, and was certainly ambiguous, he
advanced upon me and suddenly held out his hand.

cThank God you have come here! It is the only house for
twenty miles where you would not have been handed over.
But we are all British here, and we will see you through.'

It is easier to recall across the gulf of years the spasm of
relief which swept over me, than it is to describe it. A mo
ment before I had thought myself trapped ; and now friends,

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I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS 1

food, resources, aid were all at my disposal. I felt like a
drowning man pulled out of the water and informed he has
won the Derby!

My host now introduced himself as Mr. John Howard,
manager of the Transvaal Collieries. He had become a natu
ralised burgher of the Transvaal some years before the war.
But out of consideration for his British race and some in
ducements which he had offered to the local Field Cornet,
he had not been called up to fight against the British. In
stead he had been allowed to remain with one or two others
on the mine, keeping it pumped out and in good order until
coal-cutting could be resumed. He had with him at the mine-
head, besides his secretary, who was British, an engine-man
from Lancashire and two Scottish miners. All these four
were British subjects and had been allowed to remain only
upon giving their parole to observe strict neutrality. He him
self as burgher of the Transvaal Republic would be guilty
of treason in harbouring me, and liable to be shot if caught
at the time or found out later on.

'Never mind,' he said, cwe will fix it up somehow.' And
added, cThe Field Cornet was round here this afternoon
asking about you. They have got the hue and cry out all
along the line and all over the district.'

I said that I did not wish to compromise him.

Let him give me food, a pistol, a guide, and if possible
a pony, and I would make my own way to the sea, marching
by night across country far away from the railway line or
any habitation.

He would not hear of it. He would fix up something. But
he enjoined the utmost caution. Spies were everywhere. He
had two Dutch servant-maids actually sleeping in the house.
There were many Kaffirs employed about the mine premises
and on the pumping-machinery of the mine. Surveying these
dangers he became very thoughtful.

Then: 'But you are famishing.3

I did not contradict him. In a moment he had bustled off

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A ROVING COMMISSION

into the kitchen, telling me meanwhile to help myself from
a whisky bottle and the soda-water machine which I have
already mentioned* He returned after an interval with the
best part of a cold leg of mutton and various other delecta
ble commodities, and, leaving me to do full justice to these,
quitted the room and let himself out of the house by a back
door.

Nearly an hour passed before Mr. Howard returned. In
this period my physical well-being had been brought into
harmony with the improvement in my prospects. I felt con
fident of success and equal to anything.

'It's all right,' said Mr. Howard. 'I have seen the men,
and they are all for it. We must put you down the pit to
night, and there you will have to stay till we can see how to
get you out of the country. One difficulty,' he said, 'will be
the skoff (food). The Dutch girl sees every mouthful I eat.
The cook will want to know what has happened to her leg
of mutton. I shall have to think it all out during the night.
You must get down the pit at once. We'll make you com
fortable enough/

Accordingly, just as the dawn was, breaking, I followed
my host across a little yard into the enclosure in which stood
the winding-wheel of the mine. Here a stout man, intro
duced as Mr. Dewsnap, of Oldham, locked my hand in a
grip of crushing vigour.

'They'll all vote for you next time,' he whispered.

A door was opened and I entered the cage. Down we shot
into the bowels of the earth. At the bottom of the mine were
the two Scottish miners with lanterns and a big bundle which
afterwards proved to be a mattress and blankets. We walked
for some time through the pitchy labyrinth, with frequent
turns, twists, and alterations of level, and finally stopped in
a sort of chamber where the air was cool and fresh. Here
iny guide set down his bundle, and Mr. Howard handed me
a couple of candles, a bottle of whisky, and a box of cigars.

'There's no difficulty about these,' he said. 'I keep them

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I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS 1

under lock and key. Now we must plan how to feed you to

morrow.'

'Don't you move from here, whatever happens/ was the
parting injunction. 'There will be Kaffirs about the mine
after daylight, but we shall be on the look-out that none of
them wanders this way. None of them has seen anything so
far.'

My four friends trooped off with their lanterns, and I was
left alone. Viewed from the velvety darkness of the pit, life
seemed bathed in rosy light. After the perplexity and even
despair through which I had passed I counted upon freedom
as certain. Instead of a humiliating recapture and long
months of monotonous imprisonment, probably in the com
mon jail, I saw myself once more rejoining the Army with
a real exploit to my credit, and in that full enjoyment of
freedom and keen pursuit of adventure dear to the heart of
youth. In this comfortable mood, and speeded by intense
fatigue, I soon slept the sleep of the weary — but of the
triumphant.

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CHAPTER XXII

I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS— II

I DO not know how many hours I slept, but the following
afternoon must have been far advanced when I found
myself thoroughly awake. I put out my hand for the candle,
but could feel it nowhere. I did not. know what pitfalls these
mining-galleries might contain, so I thought it better to lie
quiet on my mattress and await developments. Several hours
passed before the faint gleam of a lantern showed that some
one was coming. It proved to be Mr. Howard himself,
armed with a chicken and other good things. He also brought
several books. He asked me why I had not lighted my
candle. I said I couldn't find it.

'Didn't you put it under the mattress?5 he asked.

cThen the rats must have got it.'

He told me there were swarms of rats in the mine, that
some years ago he had introduced a particular kind of white
rat, which was an excellent scavenger, and that these had
multiplied and thriven exceedingly. He told me he had been
to the house of an English doctor twenty miles away to get
the chicken. He was worried at the attitude of the two Dutch
servants, who were very inquisitive about the depredations
upon the leg of mutton for which I had been responsible. If
he could not get another chicken cooked for the next day, he
would have to take double helpings on his own plate and slip
the surplus into a parcel for me while the servant was out of
the room. He said that inquiries were being made for me all
over the district by the Boers, and that the Pretoria Govern
ment was making a tremendous fuss about my escape. The
fact that there were a number of English remaining in the
Middleburg mining region indicated it as a likely place for

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I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS II

me to have turned to, and all persons of English origin were
more or less suspect.

I again expressed my willingness to go on alone with a
Kaffir guide and a pony, but this he utterly refused to enter
tain. It would take a lot of planning, he said, to get me out
of the country, and I might have to stay in the mine for quite
a long time.

'Here,' he said, 'you are absolutely safe. Mac5 (by which
he meant one of the Scottish miners) 'knows all the disused
workings and places that no one else would dream of. There
is one place here where the water actually touches the roof
for a foot or two. If they searched the mine, Mac would dive
under that with you into the workings cut off beyond the
water. No one would ever think of looking there. We have
frightened the Kaffirs with tales of ghosts, and anyhow, we
are watching their movements continually.'

He stayed with me while I dined, and then departed,
leaving me, among other things, half-a-dozen candles which,
duly warned, I tucked under my pillow and mattress.

I slept again for a long time, and woke suddenly with a
feeling of movement about me. Something seemed to be
pulling at my pillow. I put out my hand quickly. There was
a perfect scurry. The rats were at the candles. I rescued the
candles in time, and lighted one. Luckily for me, I have no
horror of rats as such, and being reassured by their evident
timidity, I was not particularly uneasy. All the same, the
three days I passed in the mine were not among the most
pleasant which my memory re-illumines. The patter of little
feet and a perceptible sense of stir and scurry were continu
ous. Once I was waked up from a doze by one actually gal
loping across me. On the candle being lighted these beings
became invisible.

The next day — If you can call it day — arrived in due
course. This was December 14, and the third day since I had
escaped from the State Model Schools. It was relieved by
a visit from the two Scottish miners, with whom I had a long

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A ROVING COMMISSION

confabulation. I then learned, to my surprise, that the mine-
was only about two hundred feet deep.

There were parts of it, said Mac, where one could see the
daylight up a disused shaft. Would I like to take a turn
around the old workings and have a glimmer? We passed an
hour or two wandering round and up and down these sub
terranean galleries, and spent a quarter of an hour near the
bottom of the shaft, where, grey and faint, the light of the
sun and of the upper world was discerned. On this prome
nade I saw numbers of rats. They seemed rather nice little
beasts, quite white, with dark eyes which I was assured in the
daylight were a bright pink. Three years afterwards a British
officer on duty in the district wrote to me that he had heard
my statement at a lecture about the white rats and their pink
eyes, and thought it was the limit of mendacity. He had
taken the trouble to visit the mine and see for himself, and
he proceeded to apologise for having doubted my truthful
ness.

On the 1 5th Mr. Howard announced that the hue and cry
seemed to be dying away. No trace of the fugitive had been
discovered throughout the mining district. The talk among
the Boer officials was now that I must be hiding at the house
of some British sympathiser in Pretoria. They did not be
lieve that it was possible I could have got out of the town.
In these circumstances he thought that I might come up and
have a walk on the veldt that night, and that if all was quiet
the next morning I might shift my quarters to the back room
of the office. On the one hand he seemed reassured, and on
the other increasingly excited by the adventure. Accordingly,
I had a fine stroll in the glorious fresh air and moonlight,
and thereafter, anticipating slightly our programme, I took
up my quarters behind packing-cases in the inner room of
the office. Here I remained for three more days, walking
each night on the endless plain with Mr. Howard or his as
sistant.

On the 1 6th, the fifth day of escape, Mr. Howard in-

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I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS II

formed me he had made a plan to get me out of the country.
The mine was connected with the railway by a branch line.
In the neighbourhood of the mine there lived a Dutchman,
Burgener by name, who was sending a consignment of wool
to Delagoa Bay on the igth. This gentleman was well dis
posed to the British. He had been approached by Mr. How
ard, had been made a party to our secret, and was willing to
assist. Mr. Burgener's wool was packed in great bales and
would fill two or three large trucks. These trucks were to be
loaded at the mine's siding. The bales could be so packed as
to leave a small place in the centre of the truck in which I
could be concealed. A tarpaulin would be fastened over each
truck after it had been loaded, and it was very unlikely in
deed that, if the fastenings were found intact, it would be
removed at the frontier. Did I agree to take this chance?

I was more worried about this than almost anything that
had happened to me so far in my adventure. When by ex
traordinary chance one has gained some great advantage or
prize and actually had it in one's possession and been enjoy
ing it for several days, the idea of losing it becomes almost
insupportable. I had really come to count upon freedom as
a certainty, and the idea of having to put myself in a position
in which I should be perfectly helpless, without a move of
any kind, absolutely at the caprice of a searching party at the
frontier, was profoundly harassing. Rather than face this
ordeal I would much have preferred to start off on the veldt
with a pony and a guide, and far from the haunts of man to
make my way march by march beyond the wide territories of
the Boer Republic. However, in the end I accepted the pro
posal of my generous rescuer, and arrangements were made
accordingly.

I should have been still more anxious if I could have read
some of the telegrams which were reaching English news
papers. For instance:

Pretoria, December 13. — Though Mr. Churchill's escape

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A ROVING COMMISSION

was cleverly executed there is little chance of his being
able to cross the border.

Pretoria, December 14. — It is reported that Mr. Winston
Churchill has been captured at the border railway sta
tion of Komati Poort.

Lourengo Marques, December 1 6. — It is reported that Mr.
Churchill has been captured at Waterval Boven.

London, December 1 6. — With reference to the escape from
Pretoria of Mr. Winston Churchill, fears are expressed
that he may be captured again before long and if so
may probably be shot j

or if I had read the description of myself and the reward for
my recapture which were now widely distributed or posted
along the railway line. I am glad I knew nothing of all
this.

The afternoon of the i8th dragged slowly away, I re
member that I spent the greater part of it reading Steven
son's Kidncvp'ped. Those thrilling pages which describe the
escape of David Balfour and Alan Breck in the glens awak
ened sensations with which I was only too familiar. To be
a fugitive, to be a hunted man, to be 'wanted,5 is a mental
experience by itself. The risks of the battlefield, the hazards
of the bullet or the shell are one thing. Having the police
after you is another. The need for concealment and decep
tion breeds an actual sense of guilt very undermining to
morale. Feeling that at any moment the officers of the law
may present themselves or any stranger may ask the ques
tions, 'Who are you?3 * Where do you come from?' c Where
are you going?5 — to which questions no satisfactory answer
could be given — gnawed the structure of self-confidence. I
dreaded in every fibre the ordeal which awaited me at Ko
mati Poort and which I must impotently and passively en
dure if I was to make good my escape from the enemy.

In this mood I was startled by the sound of rifle-shots
close at hand, one after another at irregular intervals. A

290

Translation.

dead or alive to. this office. . . ,..

For the Sub-Commission of

(Signed) LODK. de HAAS, Sea.

A ROVING COMMISSION

sinister explanation flashed through my mind. The Boers
had come! Howard and his handful of Englishmen were in
open rebellion in the heart of the enemy's country! I had
been strictly enjoined upon no account to leave my hiding-
place behind the packing-cases in any circumstances whatever,
and I accordingly remained there in great anxiety. Presently
it became clear that the worst had not happened. The sounds
of voices and presently of laughter came from the office.
Evidently a conversation amicable, sociable in its character
was in progress. I resumed my companionship with Alan
Breck. At last the voices died away, and then after an in
terval my door was opened and Mr. Howard's pale, sombre
face appeared, suffused by a broad grin. He relocked the
door behind him and walked delicately towards me, evi
dently in high glee.

cThe Field Cornet has been here,' he said. 'No, he was not
looking for you. He says they caught you at Waterval Boven
yesterday. But I didn't want him messing about, so I chal
lenged him to a rifle match at bottles. He won two pounds
off me and has gone away delighted.

'It is all fixed up for to-night,' he added.

< What do I do? 'I asked.

'Nothing. You simply follow me when I come for you.'

At two o'clock on the morning of the igth I awaited, fully
dressed, the signal. The door opened. My host appeared. He
beckoned. Not a word was spoken on either side. He led the
way through the front office to the siding where three large
bogie trucks stood. Three figures, evidently Dewsnap and the
miners, were strolling about in different directions in the
moonlight. A gang of Kaffirs were busy lifting an enormous
bale into the rearmost truck. Howard strolled along to the
first truck and walked across the line past the end of it. As
he did so he pointed with his left hand. I nipped on to the
buffers and saw before me a hole between the wool bales and
the end of the truck, just wide enough to squeeze into. From

292

I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS II

this there led a narrow tunnel formed of wool bales into the
centre of the truck. Here was a space wide enough to lie in,
high enough to sit up in. In this I took up my abode.

Three or four hours later, when gleams of daylight had
reached me through the interstices of my shelter and through
chinks in the boards of the floorings of the truck, the noise of
an approaching engine was heard. Then came the bumping
and banging of coupling up. And again, after a further pause,
we started rumbling off on our journey into the unknown.

I now took stock of my new abode and of the resources in
munitions and supplies with which it was furnished. First
there was a revolver. This was a moral support, though it
was not easy to see in what way it could helpfully be applied
to any problem I was likely to have to solve. Secondly, there
were two roast chickens, some slices of meat, a loaf of bread,
a melon, and three bottles of cold tea. The journey to the sea
was not expected to take more than sixteen hours, but no one
could tell what delay might occur to ordinary commercial
traffic in time of war.

There was plenty of light now in the recess in which I was
confined. There were many crevices in the boards composing
the sides and floor of the truck, and through these the light
found its way between the wool bales. Working along the
tunnel to the end of the truck, I found a chink which must
have been nearly an eighth of an inch in width, and through
which it was possible to gain a partial view of the outer
world. To check the progress of the journey I had learnt
by heart beforehand the names of all the stations on the
route. I can remember many of them to-day: Witbank, Mid-
delburg, Bergendal, Belfast, Dalmanutha, Machadodorp,
Waterval Boven, Waterval Onder, Elands, Nooidgedacht,
and so on to Komati Poort. We had by now reached the first
of these. At this point the branch line from the mine joined
the railway. Here, after two or three hours' delay and shunt
ing, we were evidently coupled up to a regular train, and
soon started off at a superior and very satisfactory pace.

293

A ROVING COMMISSION

All day long we travelled eastward through the Trans
vaal, and when darkness fell we were laid up for the night
at a station which, according to my reckoning, was Waterval
Boven. We had accomplished nearly half of our journey. But
how long should we wait on this siding? It might be for
daysj it would certainly be until the next morning. During
all the dragging hours of the day I had lain on the floor of
the truck occupying my mind as best I could, painting bright
pictures of the pleasures of freedom, of the excitement of
rejoining the army, of the triumph of a successful escape —
but haunted also perpetually by anxieties about the search at
the frontier, an ordeal inevitable and constantly approaching.
Now another apprehension laid hold upon me. I wanted to
go to sleep. Indeed, I did not think I could possibly keep
awake. But if I slept I might snore! And if I snored while
the train was at rest in the silent siding, I might be heard.
And if I were heard! I decided in principle that it was only
prudent to abstain from sleep, and shortly afterwards fell
into a blissful slumber from which I was awakened the next
morning by the banging and jerking of the train as the en
gine was again coupled to it.

Between Waterval Boven and Waterval Onder there is a
very steep descent which the locomotive accomplishes by
means of a rack and pinion. We ground our way down this
at three or four miles an hour, and this feature made my
reckoning certain that the next station was, in fact, Waterval
Onder. All this day, too, we rattled through the enemy's
country, and late in the afternoon we reached the dreaded
Komati Poort. Peeping through my chink, I could see this
was a considerable place, with numerous tracks of rails and
several trains standing on them. Numbers of people were
moving about. There were many voices and much shouting
and whistling. After a preliminary inspection of the scene I
retreated, as the train pulled up, into the very centre of my
fastness, and covering myself up with a piece of sacking lay
flat on the floor of the truck and awaited developments with
a beating heart. 294

I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS II

Three or four hours passed, and I did not know whether
we had been searched or not. Several times people had passed
up and down the train talking in Dutch. But the tarpaulins
had not been removed, and no special examination seemed to
have been made of the truck. Meanwhile darkness had come
on, and I had to resign myself to an indefinite continuance
of my uncertainties. It was tantalizing to be held so long in
jeopardy after all these hundreds of miles had been accom
plished, and I was now within a few hundred yards of the
frontier. Again I wondered about the dangers of snoring.
But in the end I slept without mishap.

We were still stationary when I awoke. Perhaps they were
searching the train so thoroughly that there was conse
quently a great delay! Alternatively, perhaps we were for
gotten on the siding and would be left there for days or
weeks. I was greatly tempted to peer out, but I resisted. At
last, at eleven o'clock, we were coupled up, and almost im
mediately started. If I had been right in thinking that the
station in which we had passed the night was Komati Poort,
I was already in Portuguese territory. But perhaps I had
made a mistake. Perhaps I had miscounted. Perhaps there
was still another station before the frontier. Perhaps the
search still impended. But all these doubts were dispelled
when the train arrived at the next station. I peered through
my chink and saw the uniform caps of the Portuguese of
ficials on the platform and the name Resana Garcia painted
on a board. I restrained all expression of my joy until we
moved on again. Then, as we rumbled and banged along, I
pushed my head out of the tarpaulin and sang and shouted
and crowed at the top of my voice. Indeed, I was so carried
away by thankfulness and delight that I fired my revolver
two or three times in the air as a feu de joie. None of these
follies led to any evil results.

It was late in the afternoon when we reached Lourengo
Marques. My train ran into a goods yard, and a crowd of
Kaffirs advanced to unload it. I thought the moment had

295

A ROVING COMMISSION

now come for me to quit my hiding-place, in which I had
passed nearly three anxious and uncomfortable days. I had
already thrown out every vestige of food and had removed
all traces of my occupation. I now slipped out at the end of
the truck between the couplings, and mingling unnoticed
with the Kaffirs and loafers in the yard — which my slovenly
and unkempt appearance well fitted me to do — I strolled
my way towards the gates and found myself in the streets of
Lourengo Marques.

Burgener was waiting outside the gates. We exchanged
glances. He turned and walked off into the town, and I fol
lowed twenty yards behind. We walked through several
streets and turned a number of corners. Presently he stopped
and stood for a moment gazing up at the roof of the opposite
house. I looked in the same direction, and there — blest vi
sion! — I saw floating the gay colours of the Union Jack. It
was the British Consulate.

The secretary of the British Consul evidently did not ex
pect my arrival.

cBe off,7 he said. 'The Consul cannot see you to-day. Come
to his office at nine to-morrow, if you want anything.3

At this I became so angry, and repeated so loudly that I
insisted on seeing the Consul personally at once, that that
gentleman himself looked out of the window and finally
came down to the door and asked me my name. From that
moment every resource of hospitality and welcome was at my
disposal. A hot bath, clean clothing, an excellent dinner,
means of telegraphing — all I could want.

I devoured the file of newspapers which was placed before
me. Great events had taken place since I had climbed the
wall of the States Model Schools. The Black Week of the
Boer War had descended on the British Army. General
Gatacre at Stormberg, Lord Methuen at Magersfontein, and
Sir Redvers Buller at Colenso, had all suffered staggering
defeats, and casualties on a scale unknown to England since
the f Crimean War. All this made me eager to rejoin the

2Q6

I ESCAPE FROM THE BOERS II

army, and the Consul himself was no less anxious to get me
out of Lourengo Marques, which was full of Boers and Boer
sympathizers. Happily the weekly steamer was leaving for
Durban that very evening; in fact, it might almost be said
it ran in connection with my train. On this steamer I decided
to embark.

The news of my arrival had spread like wildfire through
the town, and while we were at dinner the Consul was at
first disturbed to cz& a group of strange figures in the garden.
These, however, turned out to be Englishmen fully armed
who had harried up to the Consulate determined to resist
any attempt at my recapture. Under the escort of these
patriotic gentlemen I marched safely through the streets to
the quay, and at about ten o'clock was on salt water in the
steamship Induna.

I reached Durban to find myself a popular hero. I was
received as if I had won a great victory. The harbour was
decorated with flags. Bands and crowds thronged the quays.
The Admiral, the General, the Mayor pressed on board to
grasp my hand. I was nearly torn to pieces by enthusiastic
kindness. Whirled along on the shoulders of the crowd, I
was carried to the steps of the town hall, where nothing
would content them but a speech, which after a becoming
reluctance I was induced to deliver. Sheaves of telegrams
from all parts of the world poured in upon me, and I started
that night for the Army in a blaze of triumph.

Here, too, I was received with the greatest goodwill. I
took up my quarters in the very plate-layer's hut within one
hundred yards of which I had a little more than a month
before been taken prisoner, and there with the rude plenty
of the Natal campaign celebrated by a dinner to many
friends my good fortune and Christmas Eve.

297

CHAPTER XXIII
BACK TO THE ARMY

I FOUND that during the weeks I had been a prisoner of
war my name had resounded at home. The part I had
played in the armoured train had been exaggerated by the
railway men and the wounded who had come back safely on
the engine. The tale was transmitted to England with many
crude or picturesque additions by the Press correspondents
gathered at Estcourt. The papers had therefore been filled
with extravagant praise of my behaviour. The news of my
escape coming on the top of all this, after nine days' suspense
and rumours of recapture, provoked another outburst of pub
lic eulogy. Youth seeks Adventure. Journalism requires Ad
vertisement. Certainly I had found both. I became for the
time quite famous. The British nation was smarting under a
series of military reverses such as are so often necessary to
evoke the exercise of its strength, and the news of my out
witting the Boers was received with enormous and no doubt
disproportionate satisfaction. This produced the inevitable
reaction, and an undercurrent of disparagement, equally un
deserved, began to mingle with the gushing tributes. For
instance Truth of November 23:

c. . . The train was upset and Mr. Churchill is described
as having rallied the force by calling out "Be men! be men!"
But what can the officers have been doing who were in com
mand of the detachment? Again, were the men showing signs
of behaving otherwise than as men? Would officers in com
mand on the battlefield permit a journalist to "rally" those
who were under their orders?'

The Phoenix (now extinct), November 23:
cThat Mr. Winston Churchill saved the life of a wounded
man in an armoured train is very likely. Possibly he also
seized a rifle and fired at a Boer. But the question occurs

298

BACK TO THE ARMY

what was he doing in the armoured train? He had no right
there whatever. He is not now a soldier, although he once
held a commission in the Fourth Hussars, and I hear that he
no longer represents the Morning Post. Either, then, who
ever commanded this ill-fated armoured train overstepped
his duty in allowing Mr. Churchill to be a passenger by the
train, or Mr. Churchill took the unwarrantable liberty of
going without permission, thereby adding to the already
weighty responsibilities of the officer in command.' . . . The
Phoenix continued in a fairly cold-blooded spirit, considering
that I was a fellow-countryman still in the hands of the en
emy and whose case was undetermined: clt is to be sincerely
hoped that Mr. Churchill will not be shot. At the same time
the Boer General cannot be blamed should he order his ex
ecution. A non-combatant has no right to carry arms. In the
Franco-Prussian War all non-combatants who carried arms
were promptly executed, when they were caught 5 and we
can hardly expect the Boers to be more humane than were
the highly civilized French and Germans.' . . .
The Daily Nation (also extinct) of December 16:
'Mr. Churchill's escape is not regarded in military circles
as either a brilliant or honourable exploit. He was captured
as a combatant, and of course placed under the same parole
as the officers taken prisoners. He has however chosen to dis
regard an honourable undertaking, and it would not be sur
prising if the Pretoria authorities adopted more strenuous
measures to prevent such conduct.' . . .

Finally the Westminster Gazette of December 26:
'Mr. Winston Churchill is once more free. With his ac
customed ingenuity he has managed to escape from Pretoria j
and the Government there is busy trying to find out how the
escape was managed. So far, so good. But whilst it was
perfectly within the rules of the game to get free, we con
fess that we hardly understand the application whkh Mr.
Churchill is reported to have made to General Joubert ask
ing to be released on the ground that he was a newspaper

299

A ROVING COMMISSION

correspondent and had taken "no part in the fighting." We
rubbed our eyes when we read this — have we not read glow
ing (and apparently authentic) accounts of Mr. Churchill's
heroic exploits in the armoured train affair? General Jou
bert, apparently, rubbed his eyes too. He replied that Mr.
Churchill — unknown to him personally — was detained be
cause all the Natal papers attributed the escape of the ar
moured train to his bravery and exertion. But since this
seemed to be a mistake, the General would take the corre
spondent's word that he was a non-combatant, and sent an
order for his release — which arrived half a day after Mr.
Churchill had escaped. Mr. Churchill's non-combatancy is
indeed a mystery, but one thing is clear — that he cannot have
the best of both worlds. His letter to General Joubert abso
lutely disposes of that probable V.C. with which numerous
correspondents have decorated him.'

When these comments were sent me I could not but think
them ungenerous. I had been in no way responsible for the
tales which the railway men and the wounded from the ar
moured train had told, nor for the form in which these state
ments had been transmitted to England 5 and still less for
the wide publicity accorded to them there. I was a prisoner
and perforce silent. The reader of these pages will under
stand why I accompanied Captain Haldane on his ill-starred
reconnaissance, and exactly the part I had taken in the fight,
and can therefore judge for himself how far my claim to be
a non-combatant was valid. Whether General Joubert had
actually reversed his previous decision to hold me as a pris
oner of war or not, I do not know, but it is certainly an odd
coincidence that this order should only have been given pub
licity tfter I had escaped from the State Model Schools. The
statement that I had broken my parole or any honourable
understanding in escaping was of course untrue. No parole
was extended to any of the prisoners of war, and we were all
kept as I have described in strict confinement under armed
guard. The lie once started, however, persisted in the alleys

300

BACK TO THE ARMY

of political controversy, and I have been forced to extort
damages and public apologies by prosecutions for libel on at
least four separate occasions. At the time I thought the Pro-
Boers were a spiteful lot.

Criticism was also excited in military and society circles
by a telegram which I sent to the Morning Post from Dur
ban.

'Reviewing the whole situation/ I wrote, cit is foolish not
to recognize that we are fighting a formidable and terrible
adversary. The high qualities of the burghers increase their
efficiency. The Government, though vilely corrupt, devote
their whole energies to military operations.

<We must face the facts. The individual Boer, mounted in
suitable country, is worth from three to five regular soldiers.
The power of modern rifles is so tremendous that frontal
attacks must often be repulsed. The extraordinary mobility
of the enemy protects his flanks. The only way of treating
the problem is either to get men equal in character and in
telligence as riflemen, or, failing the individual, huge masses
of troops. The advance of an army of 80,000 men in force,
covered by 1 50 guns in line, would be an operation beyond
the Boer's capacity to grapple with, but columns of 15,000
are only strong enough to suffer loss. It is a perilous policy
to dribble out reinforcements and to fritter away armies..

'The Republics must weaken, like the Confederate States,
through attrition. We should show no hurry, but we should
collect overwhelming masses of troops. It would be much
cheaper in the end to send more than necessary. There is
plenty of work here for a quarter of a million men, and
South Africa is well worth the cost in blood and money.
More irregular corps are wanted. Are the gentlemen of Eng
land all foxhunting? Why not an English Light Horse? For
the sake of our manhood, our devoted colonists, and our dead
soldiers, we must persevere with the war.*

These unpalatable truths were resented. The assertion
that 'the individual Boer mounted in suitable country was

301

A ROVING COMMISSION

worth from three to five regular soldiers' was held deroga
tory to the Army. The estimate of a quarter of a million men
being necessary was condemned as absurd. Quoth the Morn
ing Leader: 'We have received no confirmation of the state
ment that Lord Lansdowne has, pending the arrival of Lord
Roberts, appointed Mr. Winston Churchill to command the
troops in South Africa, with General Sir Redvers Buller,
V.C., as his Chief of Staff.' Unhappily this was sarcasm. The
old colonels and generals at the 'Buck and Dodder Club'
were furious. Some of them sent me a cable saying, 'Best
friends here hope you will not continue making further ass
of yourself.' However, my 'infantile' opinions were speedily
vindicated by events. Ten thousand Imperial Yeomanry and
gentlemen volunteers of every kind were sent to reinforce
the professional army, and more than a quarter of a million
British soldiers, or five times the total Boer forces, stood on
South African soil before success was won. I might therefore
console myself from the Bible: 'Better a poor and a wise
child than an old and foolish king. . . .'

Meanwhile the disasters of the 'Black Week' had aroused
the British nation and the Administration responded to their
mood. Mr. Balfour, deemed by his critics a ladylike, dilet
tante dialectician, proved himself in the face of this crisis the
mainspring of the Imperial Government. Sir Redvers Buller
— though this we did not know till long afterwards — had
been so upset by his repulse at Colenso on December 15 and
his casualty list of eleven hundred — then thought a terrible
loss — that he had sent a panic-stricken dispatch to the War
Office and pusillanimous orders to Sir George White. He
advised the defender of Ladysmith to fire off his ammuni
tion and make the best terms of surrender he could. He
cabled to the War Office on December 15: 'I do not think
I am now strong enough to relieve White.' This cable ar
rived at a week-end, and of the Ministers only Mr. Balfour
was in London. He replied curtly, 'If you cannot relieve
Ladysmith, hand your command over to Sir Francis Clery

302

BACK TO THE ARMY

and return home.' White also sent a chilling reply saying
that he had no intention of surrending. Meanwhile, some
days earlier the German Emperor, in a curiously friendly
mood, had sent the British Military Attache in Berlin to
England with a personal message for Queen Victoria, say
ing: cl cannot sit on the safety valve for ever. My people
demand intervention. You must get a victory. I advise you
to send out Lord Roberts and Lord Kitchener.' Whether
upon this suggestion or otherwise, Lord Roberts was, on De
cember 1 6, appointed to the chief command, with Lord
Kitchener as Chief of Staff. Reinforcements, comprising the
entire British Army outside India with powerful volunteer
additions from home and the colonies, were set in motion
towards South Africa. Buller, strongly reinforced, was as
signed the command in Natal with orders to persevere in the
relief of Ladysmith, while the main army, marshalled on a
far larger scale than originally contemplated, was to advance
northwards from the Cape Colony to relieve Kimberley and
capture Bloemfontein.

Buller was by no means overjoyed at his task. He knew
the strength of the enemy's positions on the heights beyond
the Tugela, and since the shock he had sustained at Colenso,
he even exaggerated the high qualities of the Boers. After
one of his series of unsuccessful attempts to force the Tugela,
he unbosomed himself to me in terms of the utmost candour.
'Here I am,' he exclaimed, 'condemned to fight in Natal,
which all my judgment has told me to avoid, and to try to
advance along the line worst of all suited to our troops.'

He now bent himself stubbornly to his unwelcome lot. I
have no doubt that at his age he no longer possessed the
military capacity, or the mental and physical vigour, or the
resource and ruthlessness, which his duty required. Never
theless he continued to command the confidence of his sol
diers and remained the idol of the British public.

I am doubtful whether the fact that a man has gained the
Victoria Cross for bravery as a young officer fits him to com-

303

A ROVING COMMISSION

mand an army twenty or thirty years later. I have noticed
more than one serious misfortune which arose from such
assumptions. Age, easy living, heaviness of body, many years
of promotion and success in time of peace, dissipate the vital
forces indispensable to intense action. During the long peace
the State should always have ready a few naval and military
officers of middle rank and under forty. These officers should
be specially trained and tested. They should be moved from
one command to another and given opportunities to take im
portant decisions. They should be brought into the Council
of Defence and cross-examined on their opinions. As they
grow older they should be replaced by other men of similar
age. 'Blind old Dandolos5 are rare. Lord Roberts was an ex
ception.

5JC * * # *

After Sir Redvers Buller had examined me at length upon
the conditions prevailing in the Transvaal, and after I had
given him whatever information I had been able to collect
from the somewhat scanty view-point of my chink between
the boards of the railway truck, he said to me:

'You have done very well. Is there anything we can do
for you?'

I replied at once tfiat I should like a commission in one
of the irregular corps which were being improvised on all
sides. The General, whom I had not seen since our voyage
had ended, but whom, of course, I had known off and on
during the four years I had served in the Army, appeared
somewhat disconcerted at this, and after a considerable pause
inquired:

'What about poor old Borthwick?' meaning thereby Sir
Algernon Borthwick, afterwards Lord Glenesk, proprietor
of the Morning Post newspaper. I replied that I was under
a definite contract with him as war correspondent and could
not possibly relinquish this engagement. The situation there
fore raised considerable issues. In the various little wars of
the previous few years it had been customary for military

304

THE SOUTH AFRICAN LIGHT HORSE

BACK TO THE ARMY

officers on leave to act as war correspondents, and even for
officers actually serving to undertake this double duty. This
had been considered to be a great abuse, and no doubt it was
open to many objections. No one had been more criticised in
this connection than myself for my dual role both on the
Indian frontier and up the Nile. After the Nile Expedition
the War Office had definitely and finally decided that no
soldier could be a correspondent and no correspondent could
be a soldier. Here then was the new rule in all its inviolate
sanctity, and to make an exception to it on my account above
all others — I who had been the chief cause of it — was a very
hard proposition. Sir Redvers Buller, long Adjutant-Gen
eral at the War Office, a man of the world, but also a repre
sentative of the strictest military school, found it very awk
ward. He took two or three tours round the room, eyeing me
in a droll manner. Then at last he said:

<A11 right. You can have a commission in Bungo's1 regi
ment. You will have to do as much as you can for both jobs.
But,' he added, cyou will get no pay for ours.'

To this irregular arrangement I made haste to agree*

Behold me, then, restored to the Army with a lieutenant's
commission in the South African Light Horse. This regiment
of six squadrons and over 700 mounted men with a battery
of galloping Colt machine-guns had been raised in the Cape
Colony by Colonel Julian Byng, a Captain of the 10th Hus
sars and an officer from whom great things were rightly ex
pected. He made me his assistant-adjutant, and let me go
where I liked when the regiment was not actually fighting.
Nothing could suit me better. I stitched my badges of rank
to my khaki coat and stuck the long plume of feathers from
the tail of the sakabulu bird in my hat, and lived from day
to day in perfect happiness.

The SA.L.H. formed a part of Lord Dundonald's cav-

1Colonel Byng, now Lord Byng of Vimy.

305

A ROVING COMMISSION

airy brigade, and the small group of officers and friends who
inspired and directed this force nearly all attained emi
nence in the great European War. Byng, Birdwood and
Hubert Gough all became Army Commanders. Barnes, Solly
Flood, Tom Bridges and several others commanded Divi
sions. We messed together around the same camp fire or
slept under the same wagons during the whole of the Natal
fighting, and were the best of friends. The soldiers were of
very varied origin, but first-rate fighting men. The S.A.L.H.
were mostly South Africans, with a high proportion of hard
bitten adventurers from all quarters of the world, including
a Confederate trooper from the American Civil War. Barnes'
squadron of Imperial Light Horse were Outlanders from
the Rand goldfields. Two squadrons of Natal Carabineers
and Thorneycroft's Mounted Infantry were high-class farm
ers and colonists of the invaded province, and the two com
panies of British mounted infantry were as good as could
be found in the Army. The Colonists* of course, especially
the Outlanders and the men from Natal, were filled with a
bitterness against the enemy which regular soldiers in those
days considered unprofessional} but all worked cordially to
gether.

306

CHAPTER XXIV

SPION KOP

is not the place to re-tell at any length the story of
JL the Relief of Ladysmith: but a brief account is needed.1
Sir Redvers Buller abandoned his plan of forcing the Tugela
at Colenso and advancing directly along the railway line.
Having been reinforced till his army consisted of 19,000 in
fantry, 3,000 cavalry and 60 guns, he proceeded to attempt
to turn the Boer right flank and to cross the Tugela about
25 miles upstream from Colenso, On January n Dundon-
ald's cavalry brigade by a rapid march seized the heights
overlooking Potgieter's and Trichardt's Drifts or fords j and
on the following day all his infantry, leaving their tents
standing and covered by our screen of cavalry outposts along
the river, marched by easy stages by night to Trichardt's
Drift. At daybreak on the ryth the whole of the cavalry
crossed this ford without serious opposition, and continually
reaching out their left hand reached by nightfall the neigh
bourhood of Acton Homes after a sharp and successful fight
with about 200 Boers. Meanwhile the leading infantry bri
gade, having with some difficulty crossed the deep ford, had
established themselves among the underfeatures of Spion
Kop mountain and covered the throwing of two pontoon
bridges. The bridges were completed during the morning,
and the 2nd Division under Sir Charles Warren with an
extra Brigade and most of the artillery of the Army crossed
safely during the night. The morning of the i8th therefore
saw nearly 1 6,000 troops safely across the Tugela, and their
cavalry not very far from the open ground which lies beyond
Acton Homes and offers two easy marches into Ladysmith.
It was the general belief among the fighting troops, includ
ing the experienced Colonials, that a continuance of the

1Here the reader should look at the map on page 317.

307

A ROVING COMMISSION

Handed movement of the cavalry would have turned the
whole line of heights west of Spion Kop mountain, and that
the relief of Ladysmith could be effected by mere persistence
in the movement so prosperously launched.

Buller, on the other hand, and his staff were not without
reason fearful of their communications. They were making
in fact a lengthy flank march around the right of a most
mobile enemy. One British brigade held the crossings about
Colenso, another, Lyttelton's, was established opposite Pot-
gieter's Drift. The main army was drawn up with its right
resting on the base of Spion Kop mountain with the cavalry
stretched out still farther to the left. But this front of 30
miles was by no means continuous. At any moment two or
three thousand Boers could have crossed the river in the
intervals between the watching brigades, and riding south
might have interrupted the trailing line of communications
along which all supplies had to be carried. The nightmare
which haunted the Commander-in-Chief was of being cut off
from the railway and encircled like Sir George White in
Ladysmith without even an entrenched camp or adequate
supplies to stand a siege. These dangers were rendered real
by the leisureliness which marred all Buller's movements.
While we therefore in the cavalry were eager to press on in
our wide turning movement, Buller felt it vital to shorten
the route and for this purpose to pivot on Spion Kop moun
tain. Accordingly on the night of the 23-24^ an infantry
brigade and Thorneycroft's regiment (dismounted) were
sent to seize Spion Kop. The attack was successful. The few
Boers on the mountain fled and morning saw General Wood-
gate's brigade established on the summit, while the rest of
the army lay drawn out in the foothills and ridges to the
westward.

Meanwhile the Boers had watched for six days the in
credibly slow and ponderous movements of the British.
Buller had sauntered and Warren had crawled. The enemy
had had time to make entirely new dispositions and entrench-

308

SPION K.OP

ments. They were able to spare from the investment of
Ladysmith about 7,000 mounted men and perhaps a dozen
guns and Pom-poms. When, however, they found our cav
alry aggressively threatening Acton Homes, a panic ensued,
and large numbers of burghers, not only individually but by
commandos, began to trek northwards. The spectacle of the
British in occupation of Spion Kop caused surprise rather
than alarm. General Schalk-Burger, gathering by his per
sonal exertions about 1,500 men, mostly of the Ermelo and
Pretoria Commandos, began within an hour of the morning
fog lifting a fierce rifle counter-attack upon Spion Kop, and
at the same time directed upon it from all angles the fire
of his few but excellently-served and widely-spread guns.

Spion Kop is a rocky hill — almost a mountain — rising
1,400 feet above the river with a flat top about as large as
Trafalgar Square. Into this confined area 2,000 British in
fantry were packed. There was not much cover, and they
had not been able to dig more than very shallow trenches
before the attack began. The Boer assailants very quickly
established a superiority in the rifle duel. Shrapnel converg
ing from a half-circle lashed the crowded troops. It would
have been easier for the British to advance than to hold the
summit. A thrust forward down all the slopes of Spion Kop
accompanied by the advance of the whole army against the
positions immediately in their front would certainly at this
time have been successful. Instead of this, the brigade on the
top of Spion Kop was left to bear its punishment throughout
the long hours of the South African summer day. The gen
eral was killed at the beginning of the action, and losses, ter
rible in proportion to the numbers engaged, were suffered by
the brigade. With equal difficulty and constancy the summit
was held till nightfall} but at least 1,000 officers and men,
or half the force exposed to the fire, were killed or wounded
in this cramped space. In a desperate effort to relieve the
situation Lyttleton sent two battalions across the river at
Potgieter's Drift. These fine troops — the 6oth Rifles and the

309

A ROVING COMMISSION

Cameronians — climbed the hill from the other side and ac
tually established themselves on two nipples called the Twin
Peaks, which were indeed decisive points, had their capture
been used with resolution by the Commander-in-Chief . The
rest of the army looked on, and night fell with the British
sorely stricken, but still in possession of all the decisive posi
tions.

I had marched with the cavalry to the Tugela, passed a
precarious week expecting attack on our thin-spun outpost
line, crossed the river at Trichardt's Drift early on the morn
ing of the 1 7th, and taken part in the skirmish at Acton
Homes on that evening. This was an inspiriting affair. The
Boers thought they were going to outflank our brigade and
lay an ambush for it, while two of our squadrons galloping
concealed along the low ground by the river performed the
same office for them. The enemy rode into a spoon-shaped
hollow quite carelessly in pairs, and we opened fire on them
from three sides and eventually got about half, including 30
prisoners, our losses being only four or five. Of course both
cavalry brigades ought to have been allowed to go on the
next day and engage the enemy freely, thus drawing him
away from the front of the infantry. However, peremptory
orders were issued for all the cavalry to come back into close
touch with the left of the infantry. In this position three
days later (2Oth) we attacked the line of heights beyond
Venter's Spruit. We trotted to the stream under shell fire,
left our horses in its hollows, and climbed the steep slopes
on foot, driving back the Boer outposts. Following sound
tactics we advanced up the salients, stormed Child's Kopje,
and reached the general crest line with barely a score of cas
ualties. These hills are however table-topped, and the Boers,
whose instinct for war was better than the drill-books, had a
line of trenches and rifle-pits about 300 yards back from the
edge of the table. They saluted with a storm of bullets
every man or head that showed, and no advance was possible
across this bare grass glacis. We therefore hung on along

310

SPION KOP

the edge of the table until we were relieved after dark by the
infantry.

The next day was for us a day of rest, but on the morning
of the 24th when we awoke, all eyes were directed to the top
of Spion Kop mountain which frowned upon our right. We
were told it had been captured in the night by our troops,
and that the Boers were counter-attacking was evident from
the ceaseless crown of shrapnel shells bursting around the
summit. After luncheon I rode with a companion to Three
Tree Hill to see what was going on. Here were six field bat
teries and a battery of howitzers, an enormously powerful
force in such a war; but they did not know what to fire at.
They could not find the scattered Boer guns which all the
time were bombarding Spion Kop, and no other targets were
visible. We decided to ascend the mountain. Leaving our
horses at its foot we climbed from one enormous boulder to
another up its rear arete, starting near Wright's farm. The
severity of the action was evident. Streams of wounded,
some carried or accompanied by as many as four or five un-
wounded soldiers, trickled and even flowed down the hill,
at the foot of which two hospital villages of tents and wag
gons were rapidly growing. At the edge of the table-top was
a reserve battalion quite intact, and another brigadier who
seemed to have nothing to do. Here we learned that after
General Woodgate had been killed, Colonel Thorneycroft
had been placed in command of all the troops on the summit
and was fighting desperately. The brigadier had received
orders not to supersede him. The white flag had already
gone up once and the Boers had advanced to take the sur
render of several companies, but Thorneycroft had arrived
in a fury, had beaten down the flag, and heavy firing had
been resumed at close quarters by both sides. To our right
we could see the Twin Peaks, on which tiny figures moved
from time to time. It was generally assumed they were the
enemy. If so they were well posted and would soon com
promise the retreat of the force. They were in fact our

A ROVING COMMISSION

friends, the Cameronians from Potgieter's Drift. We crawled
forward a short way on to the plateau, but the fire was much
too hot for mere sight-seeing. We decided we would go and
report the situation to the Staff.

It was sunset when we reached the headquarters of the
2nd Division. Sir Charles Warren was an officer 59 years
old, and aged for his years. Sixteen years before he had com
manded an expedition to Bechuanaland. He had been sec
onded from the army to become Chief Commissioner of the
Metropolitan Police. He was now resuscitated to a most ac
tive and responsible position. He seemed worried. He had
had no communication with the summit for several hours.
Our tidings did not cheer him. His Staff Officer said, 'We
have been very anxious all day, but the worst should be over
now. We will send up fresh troops, dig in all night, and hold
the position with a much smaller force to-morrow. Go now
and tell this to Colonel Thorneycroft.' I asked for a written
message, and the officer complied with this request.

So I climbed the mountain again, this time in pitch dark
ness. I passed through the reserve battalion still untouched
and walked out on to the top of the plateau. The firing had
died away and only occasional bullets sang through the air.
The ground was thickly dotted with killed and wounded and
I wandered about for some time before I found Colonel
Thorneycroft. I saluted, congratulated him on becoming
Brigadier-General, and handed him my note. 'Precious lot
of brigadier there'll be to-morrow,5 he said. CI ordered a
general retirement an hour ago.' He read the note. 'There
is nothing definite in this,' he said impatiently. 'Reinforce-
ments indeed! There are too many men here already. What
is the general plan?' I said, 'Had I not better go and tell
Sir Charles Warren before you retire from the hill? I am
sure he meant you to hold on.' 'No,' he said, 'I have made
up my mind. The retirement is already in progress. We have
given up a lot of ground. We may be cut off at any moment,'
and then, with great emphasis, 'Better six good battalions

312

SP ION KOP

safely off the hill to-night than a bloody mop-up in the
morning.' As he had no aide-de-camp or staff officer and was
exhausted morally and physically by the ordeal through
which he had passed, I continued at his side while for an
hour or more the long files of men trooped in the darkness
down the hill.

All was quiet now, and we were I think almost the last to
leave the scene. As we passed through a few stunted trees
dark figures appeared close at hand. 'Boers,' said Thorney-
croft in a whisper 5 'I knew they'd cut us off.' We drew our
revolvers. Of course they were our own men. As we quitted
the plateau a hundred yards farther on, we came upon the
reserve battalion still fresh and unused. Colonel Thorney-
croft gazed at the clustering soldiers for a minute or two as
if once again balancing the decision, but the entire plateau
was now evacuated and for all we knew re-occupied by the
enemy, and shaking his head he resumed the descent. When
half an hour later we had nearly reached the bottom of the
mountain, we met a long column of men with picks and
shovels. The sapper officer at their head had a shrouded
lanterri. *I have a message for Colonel Thorneycroft,' he
said. 'Read it,' said Thorneycroft to me. I tore the envelope.
The message was short. 'We are sending,' it said in effect,
'400 sappers and a fresh battalion. Entrench yourselves
strongly by morning,' but Colonel Thorneycroft, brandish
ing his walking-stick, ordered the relieving troops to counter
march and we all trooped down together. The night was
very dark, and it took me an hour to find the way through
the broken ground to Warren's headquarters. The general
was asleep. I put my hand on his shoulder and woke him up.
'Colonel Thorneycroft is here, sir.' He took it all very
calmly. He was a charming old gentleman. I was genuinely
sorry for him. I was also sorry for the army.

Colonel Thorneycroft erred gravely in retiring against
his orders from the position he had so nobly held by the
sacrifices of his troops. His extraordinary personal bravery

313

A ROVING COMMISSION

throughout the day and the fact that his resolution had alone
prevented a fatal surrender more than once during the action
were held to condone and cover a military crime. It was cer
tainly not for those who had left him so long without defi
nite orders or any contact to lay the blame on him. A young
active divisional general, having made all plans for the
relief, would have joined him on the summit at nightfall
and settled everything in person. A cruel misfortune would
thus have been averted.

The Boers had also suffered heavy losses in the fight and
had been grievously disheartened by their failure to take the
hill. They were actually in retreat when Louis Botha — pri
vate two months before, now in chief command — coming
from Ladysmith, turned them round and led them on to the
table-top. All were appalled by the carnage. The shallow
trenches were choked with dead and wounded. Nearly a
hundred officers had fallen. Having re-occupied the position
Botha sent forthwith a flag of truce inviting us to tend and
gather our wounded and bury the dead. The 25th passed in
complete silence. During the 25th and 26th our enormous
wagon train rumbled back across the bridges, and on the
night of the 26th the whole of the fighting troops recrossed
the river. I have never understood why the Boers did not
shell the bridges. As it was we passed unmolested, and Sir
Redvers Buller was able to proclaim that he had effected his
retreat 'without the loss of a man or a pound of stores.' That
was all there was to show for the operations of a whole army
corps for sixteen days at a cost of about eighteen hundred
casualties.

Buller's next effort was directed against the ridges run
ning eastward of Spion Kop to the bluffs of Doom Kloof.
The army had received drafts and reinforcements. The ar
tillery had increased to nearly 100 guns, including a number
of 5O-pounder long-range naval guns. The plan was com
plicated, but can be simply explained. A bridge had been
thrown across the river at Potgieter's Drift. An infantry

SPION KOP

brigade supported by the bulk of the artillery was to threaten
the centre of the Boer position. While the enemy's eyes
were supposed to be riveted upon this, three other brigades
were to move to a point two miles downstream, where a
second bridge would be rapidly thrown. One of these bri
gades was to attack the Vaal Krantz ridge upon its left, the
others were to attack the Doom Kloof position. The two
cavalry brigades, the regulars and our own with a battery of
horse artillery, were then to gallop towards Klip Poort
through the hoped-for gap opened by these outward-wheel
ing attacks. We heard these proposals, when in deep secrecy
they were confided to us the night before, with some con
cern. In fact when from Spearman's Hill we surveyed with
telescopes the broken ground, interspersed with hummocks
and watercourses and dotted with scrub and boulders, into
which we were to be launched on horseback, we expected
very rough treatment. However, the matter was not one on
which we were invited to express an opinion.

The action began with a tremendous bombardment by our
heavy artillery mounted on Zwaart Kop, and as our long
cavalry columns filed slowly down the tracks from Spear
man's Hill towards the river the spectacle was striking. The
enemy's positions on the Vaal Krantz ridge smoked like vol
canoes under the bursting shells. I had obtained a commis
sion in the S.A.L.H. for my brother, who was just nineteen.
He had arrived only two days before, and we rode down the
hill together. Lyttelton's brigade crossed the second bridge,
deployed to its left, and attacked the eastern end of the Vaal
Krantz position. When they could get no farther they dug
themselves in. It was now the turn of the second brigade 5
but there seemed great reluctance to launch this into the very
difficult ground beyond the lower bridge. A battalion was
soon involved in heavy fighting and the movement of the
rest of the brigade was suspended. So about four o'clock in
the afternoon we were told we should not be wanted till the
next day. We bivouacked at the foot of the Heights, dis-

315

A ROVING COMMISSION

turbed only by an occasional hostile shell. Although all our
transport was only five miles back, we had nothing but what
was necessary for our intended gallop through the gap, if
gap there were. The night was chilly. Colonel Byng and I
shared a blanket. When he turned over I was in the cold.
When I turned over I pulled the blanket off him and he
objected. He was the Colonel. It was not a good arrange
ment. I was glad when morning came.

Meanwhile General Lyttelton and his riflemen had dug
themselves deeply in upon their ridge. They expected to be
heavily shelled at daylight, and they were not disappointed.
However, they had burrowed so well that they endured the
whole day's bombardment and beat off several rifle attacks
with less than two hundred casualties. We watched them all
day in our bivouac with a composure tempered only by the
thought that the hour for our gallop would soon come. It
never came. That very night Lyttelton's brigade was with
drawn across the river. The pontoon bridges were lifted, and
our whole army, having lost about 500 men, marched by
leisurely stages back to the camps at Chieveley and Frere
whence we had started to relieve Ladysmith nearly a month
before. Meanwhile the garrison was on starvation rations
and was fast devouring its horses and mules. Sir George
White declared that he could hold out for another six weeks.
He had however no longer any mobility to co-operate with
us. He could just sit still and starve as slowly as possible.
The outlook was therefore bleak.

316

CHAPTER XXV

THE RELIEF OF LADYSMITH

IN spite of the vexatious course of the war, the two months*
fighting for the relief of Ladysmith make one of the
most happy memories of my life. Although our irregular
cavalry brigade was engaged with the enemy on at least three
days out of five, our losses except in Thorneycroft's regiment
at Spion Kop were never severe. We had one skirmish after
another with casualties running from half a dozen to a score.
I saw all there was to see. Day after day we rode out in the
early morning on one flank or another and played about with
the Boers, galloped around or clambered up the rocky hills,
caught glimpses of darting, fleeting horsemen in the dis
tance, heard a few bullets whistle, had a few careful shots
and came safe home to a good dinner and cheery, keenly-
intelligent companions. Meanwhile I dispatched a continual
stream of letters and cables to The Morning Post, and
learned from them that all I wrote commanded a wide and
influential public. I knew all the generals and other swells,
had access to everyone, and was everywhere well received.
We lived in great comfort in the open air, with cool nights
and bright sunshine, with plenty of meat, chickens and beer.
The excellent Natal newspapers often got into the firing
line about noon and always awaited us on our return in the
evening. One lived entirely in the present with something
happening all the time. Care-free, no regrets for the past, no
fears for the future 5 no expense, no duns, no complications,
and all the time my salary was safely piling up at home!
When a prisoner I had thought it my duty to write from
Pretoria to The Morning Post releasing them from their
contract, as it seemed they would get no more value out of
me. They did not accept my offer; but before I knew this,

318

THE RELIEF OF LADYSMITH

I was already free. My relations with them continued to be
of the best 5 and one could not serve better employers.

It was a great joy to me to have my brother Jack with
me, and I looked forward to showing him round and doing
for him the honours of war. This pleasure was however soon
cut short. On February 12 we made a reconnaissance 6 or
7 miles to the east of the railway line and occupied for some
hours a large wooded eminence known to the army as Hus
sar Hill. Buller and the Headquarters staff, it seemed,
wished to examine this ground. Using our whole brigade we
drove away the Boer pickets and patrols, set up an outpost
line of our own, and enabled the general to see what he
wanted. As the morning passed, the rifle fire became more
lively, and when the time came to go home the Boers fol
lowed on our tail and we had some loss in disengaging our
selves.

After quitting Hussar Hill and putting at a gallop a mile
between us and the enemy, our squadrons reined into a walk
and rode slowly homewards up a long smooth grass slope,
I was by now a fairly experienced young officer and I could
often feel danger impending from this quarter or from that,
as you might feel a light breeze on your cheek or neck.
When one rode for instance within rifle shot of some hill or
water-course about which we did not know enough, I used
to feel a draughty sensation. On this occasion as I looked
back over my shoulder from time to time at Hussar Hill or
surveyed the large brown masses of our rearmost squadrons
riding so placidly home across the rolling veldt, I remarked
to my companion, *We are still much too near those fellows.'
The words were hardly out of my mouth when a shot rang
out, followed by the rattle of magazine fire from two or
three hundred Mauser rifles. A hail of bullets whistled
among our squadrons, emptying a few saddles and bringing
down a few horses. Instinctively our whole cavalcade spread
out into open order and scampered over the crest now nearly
two hundred yards away. Here we leapt off our horses,

319

A ROVING COMMISSION

which were hurried into cover, threw ourselves on the grass,
and returned the fire with an answering roar and rattle.

If the Boers had been a little quicker and had caught us
a quarter of a mile farther back we should have paid dearly
for the liberty we had taken: but the range was now over
2,000 yards $ we were prone, almost as invisible as the en
emy, and very little harm was done. Jack was lying by my
side. All of a sudden he jumped and wriggled back a yard
or two from the line. He had been shot in the calf, in this
his very first skirmish, by a bullet which must have passed
uncommonly near his head. I helped him from the firing
line and saw him into an ambulance. The fusillade soon
ceased and I rode on to the field hospital to make sure he
was properly treated. The British army doctors were in those
days very jealous of their military rank 5 so I saluted the
surgeon, addressed him as 'Major,' had a few words with
him about the skirmish, and then mentioned my brother's
wound. The gallant doctor was in the best of tempers, prom
ised chloroform, no pain, and every attention, and was cer
tainly as good as his word.

But now here was a curious coincidence. While I had been
busy in South Africa my mother had not been idle at home.
She had raised a fund, captivated an American millionaire,
obtained a ship, equipped it as a hospital with a full staff of
nurses and every comfort. After a stormy voyage she had
arrived at Durban and eagerly awaited a consignment of
wounded. She received her younger son as the very first cas
ualty treated on board the hospital ship Maine. I took a few
days' leave to go and see her, and lived on board as on a
yacht. So here we were all happily reunited after six months
of varied experiences. The greatest swell in Durban was
Captain Percy Scott, commander of the armoured cruiser
Terrible. He lavished his courtesies upon us and showed us
'all the wonders of his vessel; he .named the 4.7-inch gun
that he had mounted on a railway truck after my mother,
and even eventually organised a visit for her to the front to

320

THE RELIEF OF LADYSMITH

see it fire. Altogether there was an air of grace and amenity
about this war singularly lacking fifteen years later on the
Western Front.

Buller now began his fourth attempt to relieve Lady-
smith. The garrison was in dire straits, and for all of us,
relievers and besieged, it was kill or cure. The enemy's main
positions were upon the bluffs and heights along the Tugela.1
After flowing under the broken railway bridge at Colenso,
the river takes a deep bend towards Ladysmith. The tongue
of land encircled by the river included on our left (as we
faced the enemy) Hlangwane Hill, assaulted by the South
African Light Horse on December 155 in the centre, a long
grassy plateau called the Green Hill, and on the far right,
two densely-wooded and mountainous ridges named respec
tively Cingolo and Monte Cristo. Thus the Boer right had
the river in its front and their left and centre had the river
in its rear. It was now decided to make a wide turning move
ment, and try to surprise and seize these commanding ridges
which constituted the true left flank of the enemy. If we
were successful two infantry divisions sustained by all the
artillery would assault the central plateau, and thence by a
continued right-handed attack capture Hlangwane Hill it
self. The conquest of this hill would render the Boer posi
tions around Colenso untenable, and would open the pas
sage of the river. This was a sound and indeed fairly obvious
plan and there was no reason why it should not have been
followed from the very beginning. Buller had not happened
to think of it before. At Colenso, although assured that
Hlangwane was on his side of the river, he had not believed
it. He only gradually accepted the fact. That was all.

On the 1 5th the whole army marched from its camps
along the railway to Hussar Hill and deployed for attack.
Everything however depended upon our being able to cap
ture Cingolo and Monte Cristo. This task was entrusted to
Colonel Byng and our regiment, supported by an infantry

1See map on page 325.

A ROVING COMMISSION

brigade. It proved surprisingly easy. We marched by devious
paths through the night and at dawn on the i8th climbed
the southern slopes of Cingolo. We surprised and drove in
the handful of Boers who alone were watching these key
positions. During that day and the next in conjunction with
the infantry we chased them off Cingolo, across the nek or
saddle which joined the two ridges, and became masters of
the whole of Monte Cristo. From this commanding height
we overlooked all the Boer positions beyond the Tugela, and
saw Ladysmith lying at our feet only six miles away. Mean
while the main infantry and artillery attack on the sand-bag
redoubts and entrenchments of the Green Hills had been
entirely successful. The enemy, handled properly by envel
opment and resolute attack, and disquieted by having a river
in his rear, made but little resistance. By the night of the
2Oth the whole of the Boer positions south of the Tugela,
including the rugged hill of Hlangwane, were in the British
grip. The Boers evacuated Colenso and everywhere with
drew to their main line of defence across the river. So far so
good.

We had only to continue this right-handed movement to
succeed, for Monte Cristo actually dominated the Boer
trenches at Barton's Hill beyond the river; and Barton's
Hill, if taken, exposed the neighbouring eminence, and so
on. But now Buller, lirged it was said by Warren, made a
mistake difficult to pardon after all the schooling he had re
ceived at the expense of his troops. Throwing a pontoon
bridge near Colenso, he drew in his right, abandoned the
commanding position, and began to advance by his left,
along the railway line. In the course of the next two days
he got his army thoroughly clumped-up in the maze of hills
and spurs beyond Colenso. In these unfavourable conditions,
without any turning movement, he assaulted the long-pre
pared, deeply-entrenched Boer position before Pieters. The
purblind viciousness of these manoeuvres was apparent to
many. When I talked on the night of the 22nd with a high

322

THE RELIEF OF LADYSMITH

officer on the Headquarters5 Staff, afterwards well known as
Colonel Repington, he said bluntly, <I don't like the situa
tion. We have come down off our high ground. We have
taken all the big guns off the big hills. We are getting our
selves cramped among these kopjes in the valley of the Tu-
gela. It will be like being in the Coliseum and shot at by
every row of seats!' So indeed it proved. The Boers, who
had despaired of resisting our wide turning movement, and
many of whom had already begun to trek northwards, re
turned in large numbers when they saw the British army
once again thrusting its head obstinately into a trap.

Heavy confused fighting with many casualties among the
low kopjes by the Tugela occupied the night of the 22nd/
23rd. The assault of the Pieters position could not begin till
the next evening. As the cavalry could play no part, I rode
across the river and worked my way forward to a rocky spur
where I found General Lyttelton1 crouching behind a stone
watching the fight. He was quite alone, and seemed glad to
see me. The infantry, General Hart's Irish Brigade leading,
filed and wound along the railway line, losing a lot of men
at exposed points and gradually completing their deploy
ment for their left-handed assault. The Pieters position
consisted of three rounded peaks easily attackable from right
to left, and probably impregnable from left to right. It was
four o'clock when the Irish Brigade began to toil up the steep
sides of what is now called Inniskilling Hill, and sunset ap
proached before the assault was delivered by the Inniskilling
and Dublin Fusiliers. The spectacle was tragic. Through our
glasses we could see the Boers' heads and slouch hats in
miniature silhouette, wreathed and obscured by shell-bursts,
against the evening sky. Up the bare grassy slopes slowly
climbed the brown figures and glinting bayonets of the Irish
men, and the rattle of intense musketry drummed in our
ears. The climbing figures dwindled j they ceased to move}
they vanished into the darkening hillside. Out of twelve

1Afterwards Sir Neville Lyttelton.

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A ROVING COMMISSION

hundred men who assaulted, both colonels, three majors,
twenty officers and six hundred soldiers had fallen, killed or
wounded. The repulse was complete.

Sir Redvers Buller now allowed himself to be persuaded
to resume; the right-handed movement, and to deploy again
upon a widely-extended front. It took three days to extricate
the army from the tangle into which he had so needlessly
plunged it. For two of these days hundreds of wounded
lying on Inniskilling Hill suffered a cruel ordeal. The plight
of these poor men between the firing lines without aid or
water, waving pitiful strips of linen in mute appeal, was hard
to witness. On the 26th Buller sought an armistice. The
Boers refused a formal truce, but invited doctors and stretch
er-bearers to come without fear and collect the wounded and
bury the dead. At nightfall, this task being completed, firing
was resumed.

February 27 was the anniversary of Majuba, and on this
day the Natal army delivered its final attack. All the big
guns were now back again on the big hills, and the Brigades,
having passed the river by the Boer bridge which was un
damaged, attacked the Boer position from the right. First
Barton's Hill was stormed. This drew with it the capture of
Railway Hill 5 and lastly the dreaded position of the In
niskilling Hill, already half turned and to some extent com
manded, was carried by the bayonet. The last row of hills
between us and Ladysmith had fallen. Mounting in haste
we galloped to the river, hoping to pursue. The Commander-
in-Chief met us at the bridge and sternly ordered us back.
'Damn pursuit P were said to be the historic words he ut
tered on this occasion. As one might say 'Damn reward for
sacrifices! Damn the recovery of debts overdue! Damn the
prize which eases future struggles!5

The next morning, advancing in leisurely fashion, we
crossed the river, wended up and across the battle-scarred
heights, and debouched upon the open plain which led to
Ladysmith six miles away. The Boers were in full retreat j

324

THE RELIEF OF LADYSMITH

the shears were up over their big gun on Bulwana Hill, and
the dust of the wagon-trains trekking northward rose from
many quarters of the horizon. The order 'Damn pursuit!3
still held. It was freely said that the Commander-in-Chief
had remarked 'Better leave them alone now they are going
off.' All day we chafed and fumed, and it was not until eve-

THE RELIEF OF LADYSMITH

ning that two squadrons of the S.A.L.H. were allowed to
brush through the crumbling rearguards and ride into Lady-
smith. I rode with these two squadrons, and galloped across
the scrub-dotted plain, fired at only by a couple of Boer
guns. Suddenly from the brushwood up rose gaunt figures
waving hands of welcome. On we pressed, and at the head
of a battered street of tin-roofed houses met Sir George

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White on horseback, faultlessly attired. Then we all rode to
gether into the long beleaguered, almost starved-out, Lady-
smith. It was a thrilling moment.

I dined with the Headquarters staff that night. Ian Ham
ilton, Rawlinson, Hedworth Lambton, were warm in their
welcome. Jealously preserved bottles of champagne were un
corked. I looked for horseflesh, but the last trek-ox had been
slain in honour of the occasion. Our pallid and emaciated
hosts showed subdued contentment. But having travelled so
far and by such rough and devious routes, I rejoiced to be in
Ladysmith at last.

326

CHAPTER XXVI

IN THE ORANGE FREE STATE

T ORD ROBERTS had been a great friend of my father's.
•*-' Lord Randolph Churchill had insisted as Secretary of
State for India in 1885 in placing him at the head of the
Indian Army, thrusting on one side for this purpose the
claims of Lord Wolseley himself. They had continued
friends until my father's death ten years later 5 and I as a
child had often met the General and could pride myself on
several fascinating conversations with him. He was always
very kind to youth, tolerant of its precocity and exuberance,
and gifted naturally with every art that could captivate its
allegiance. I certainly felt as a young officer that here at any
rate in the higher ranks of the Army was an august friend
upon whose countenance I could rely.

While we in Natal were rejoicing in a success all the
sweeter for so many disappointments, the news had already
arrived that Roberts advancing northwards from the Cape
Colony into the Orange Free State, had relieved Kimberley
and had surrounded and captured the Boer Army under
Cronje in the considerable fighting of Paardeberg. It seemed
as if by a wave of the wand the whole war situation had been
transformed and the black week of November 1899 had
been replaced by the universal successes of February 1900.
All this dramatic change in the main aspect of the war re
dounded in the public mind to the credit of Lord Roberts.
This wonderful little man, it was said, had suddenly ap
peared upon the scene; and as if by enchantment, the clouds
had rolled away and the sun shone once again brightly on
the British armies in every part of the immense sub-conti
nent.

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In consequence of their reverses the Boers abandoned the
invasion of Natal. They withdrew with their usual extraordi
nary celerity through the Drakensbergs back into their own
territory. Dragging their heavy guns with them and all their
stores, they melted away in the course of a fortnight and
abandoned the whole of the colony of Natal to the Imperial
troops. It was evident that a long delay would of necessity
have to intervene before these ponderous forces — never more
ponderous than under Buller — could be set in motion, repair
the damaged railway, transport their immense quantities of
supplies, and cover the 150 miles which separated Lady-
smith from the Transvaal frontiers.

I now became impatient to get into the decisive and main
theatre of the war. On the free and easy footing which had
been accorded me by the Natal Army authorities since my
escape from Pretoria, it was not difficult for me to obtain
indefinite , leave of absence from the South African Light
Horse, and without resigning my commission to transfer my
activities as a correspondent to Lord Roberts's army, at that
time in occupation of Bloemfontein. I packed my kit-bag,
descended the Natal Railway, sailed from Durban to Port
Elizabeth, traversed the railways of the Cape Colony, and
arrived in due course at the sumptuous Mount Nelson Hotel
at Cape Town. Meanwhile the Morning Post, who regarded
me as their principal correspondent, made the necessary ap
plication for me to be accredited to Lord Roberta's army. I
Expected the formalities would take several days, and these
I passed very pleasantly interviewing the leading South
African and Dutch politicians in the South African capital.

Hitherto I had been regarded as a Jingo bent upon the
ruthless prosecution of the war, and was therefore vilified
by the pro-Boers. I was now to get into trouble with the
Tories. The evacuation of Natal by the invaders exposed all
those who had joined, aided or sympathised with them to
retribution. A wave of indignation swept through the colony.

328

IN THE ORANGE FREE STATE

The first thoughts of the British Government on the other
hand now that they had won were to let bygones be bygones.
An Under Secretary, Lord Wolverton, was allowed to make
a speech in this sense. All my instincts acclaimed this mag
nanimity. On March 24 I had telegraphed from Ladysmith:

In spite of the feelings of the loyal colonists who have
fought so gallantly for the Empire, I earnestly hope and
urge that a generous and forgiving policy be followed. If
the military operations are prosecuted furiously and tirelessly
there will be neither necessity nor excuse for giving rebels
who surrender a 'lesson.' The wise and right course is to beat
down all who resist, even to the last man, but not to with
hold forgiveness and even friendship from any who wish to
surrender. The Dutch farmers who have joined the enemy
are only traitors in the legal sense. That they obeyed the
natural instinct of their blood to join the men of their own
race, though no justification, is an excuse. Certainly their
conduct is morally less reprehensible than that of English
men who are regular burghers of the Republics, and who are
fighting as fiercely as proper belligerents against their own
countrymen.

Yet even these Englishmen would deserve some tolerance
were they not legally protected by their citizenship. The
Dutch traitor is less black than the renegade British-born
burgher, but both are the results of our own mistakes and
crimes in Africa in former years. On purely practical grounds
it is most important to differentiate between rebels who want
to surrender and rebels who are caught fighting. Every in
fluence should be brought to bear to weaken the enemy and
make him submit. On the one hand are mighty armies ad
vancing irresistibly, slaying and smiting with all the fearful
engines of war j on the other, the quiet farm with wife and
children safe under the protection of a government as merci
ful as it is strong. The policy which will hold these two pic
tures ever before the eyes of the Republican soldiers is truly

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A ROVING COMMISSION

'thorough/ and therein lies the shortest road to cpeace with
honour.'

This message was very ill received in England. A vin
dictive spirit, unhelpful but not unnatural, ruled. The Gov
ernment had rallied to the nation; the Under Secretary had
been suppressed; and I bore the brunt of Conservative anger.
Even the Morning Post, while printing my messages, sor
rowfully disagreed with my view. The Natal newspapers
were loud-voiced in condemnation. I replied that it was not
the first time that victorious gladiators had been surprised to
see thumbs turned down in the Imperial box.

Sir Alfred Milner was far more understanding, and spoke
to me with kindliness and comprehension. His A.D.C. the
Duke of Westminster, had organised a pack of hounds for
his chief's diversion and exercise. We hunted jackal beneath
Table Mountain, and lunched after a jolly gallop sitting
among the scrub.

The High Commissioner said, CI thought they would be
upset, especially in Natal, by your message when I saw it.
Of course all these people have got to live together. They
must forgive and forget, and make a common country. But
now passions are running too high. People who have had
their friends or relations killed, or whose homes have been
invaded, will not hear of clemency till they calm down. I
understand your feelings, but it does no good to express
them now.' I was impressed by hearing these calm, detached,
broad-minded opinions from the lips of one so widely por
trayed as the embodiment of rigid uncompromising subjuga
tion. In the event, for all the fierce words, the treatment
accorded to rebels and traitors by the British Government
was indulgent in the extreme.

Here I must confess that all through my life I have found
myself, in disagreement alternately with both the historic
English parties. I have always urged fighting wars and other
contentions with might and main till overwhelming victory,

330

IN THE ORANGE FREE STATE

and then offering the hand of friendship to the vanquished.
Thus I have always been against the Pacifists during the
quarrel, and against the Jingoes at its close. Many years
after this South African incident, Lord Birkenhead men
tioned to me a Latin quotation which seems to embody this
idea extremely well. 'Parcere subjectis et delellare swperbosj
which he translated finely 'Spare the conquered and war
down the proud.' I seem to have come very near achieving
this thought by my own untutored reflections. The Romans
have often forestalled many of my best ideas, and I must
concede to them the patent rights in this maxim. Never in
deed was it more apt than in South Africa. Wherever we
departed from it, we suffered; wherever we followed it, we
triumphed.

And not only in South Africa. I thought we ought to have
conquered the Irish and then given them Home Rule: that
we ought to have starved out the Germans, and then re-
victualled their country ; and that after smashing the Gen
eral Strike, we should have met the grievances of the miners.
I always get into trouble because so few people take this line.
I was once asked to devise an inscription for a monument in
France. I wrote, <In war, Resolution. In defeat, Defiance.
In victory, Magnanimity. In peace, Goodwill.' The inscrip
tion was not accepted. It is all the fault of the human brain
being made in two lobes, only one of which does any think
ing, so that we are all right-handed or left-handed; whereas
if we were properly constructed we should use our right and
left hands with equal force and skill according to circum
stances. As it is, those who can win a war well can rarely
make a good peace, and those who could make a good peace
would never have won the war. It would perhaps be press
ing the argument too far to suggest that I could do both.

After several days had passed agreeably at Cape Town I
began to wonder why no pass had reached me to proceed to

A ROVING COMMISSION

Bloemfontein. When more than a week had elapsed without
any response to the regular application which had been made,
I realised that some obstacle had arisen. I could not imagine
what this obstacle could be. In all my writings from Natal
I had laboured ceaselessly to maintain confidence at home
and put the best appearance possible upon the many reverses
and 'regrettable incidents' which had marked the operations
in Natal. War Correspondents were considerable people in
those days of small wars, and I was at that time one of the
best-known writers among them and serving one of the most
influential newspapers. I racked my brain and searched my
conscience to discover any reasonable cause for the now ob
vious obstruction with which I was confronted.

Luckily I had at Lord Roberts's Headquarters two good
and powerful friends. He had sent for Ian Hamilton, his
former Aide-de-Camp and trusted friend, as soon as Lady-
smith was relieved. General Nicholson — cOld Nick' of Lock-
hart's Staff in Tirah — held a high position at Headquarters.
These two had been to Roberts through many years of peace
and war a part of what Marshal Foch in later years was ac
customed to describe as 'ma famille militaire.' Both were in
the highest favour and had at all times the freest access to
the Commander-in-Chief. In spite of certain differences of
age and rank, I could count on them almost upon a footing
of equal friendship. To these officers therefore I had re
course. They informed me by telegram that the obstacle was
none other than the Commander-in-Chief himself. Lord
Kitchener, it appeared, had been offended by some passages
in The River War, and Lord Roberts felt that it might be
resented by his Chief of Staff if I were attached as corre
spondent to the main portion of the army. But there was,
they said, an additional cause of offence which had very seri
ously affected Lord Roberts's mind. In a letter to the Morn
ing Post written from Natal, I had criticised severely the
inadequacy of a sermon preached to the troops on the eve
of battle by a Church of England Army Chaplain. The Com-

332

IN THE ORANGE FREE STATE

mander-in-Chief regarded this as a very unjust reflection on
the spiritual ministrations of these devoted officials. He was,
my friends said, 'extremely stiff.' They were trying their
best to soften him and believed that in a few days they would
succeed. Meanwhile there was nothing for it but to wait.

I now recalled very clearly the incident of the Army
Chaplain's sermon and what I had written about it. It was
the Sunday between Spion Kop and Vaal Krantz. The men
of a whole brigade, expecting to be seriously engaged on the
next day or the day after, had gathered for Service in a little
grassy valley near the Tugela and just out of gunshot of the
enemy's lines. At this moment when all hearts, even the
most indifferent, were especially apt to receive the consola
tions of religion, and when a fine appeal might have carried
its message to deep and permanent results, we had been
treated to a ridiculous discourse on the peculiar and uncon
vincing tactics by which the Israelites were said to have pro
cured the downfall of the walls of Jericho. My comment,
caustic perhaps, but surely not undeserved, had been: *As I
listened to these foolish sentences I thought of the gallant
and venerable figure of Father Brindle in the Omdurman
campaign,1 and wondered whether Rome would again seize
the opportunity which Canterbury disdained.' These stric
tures had, it appeared, caused commotion in the Established
Church. Great indignation had been expressed, and follow
ing thereupon had been a veritable crusade. Several of the
most eloquent divines, vacating their pulpits, had volun
teered for the Front and were at this moment swiftly jour
neying to South Africa to bring a needed reinforcement to
the well-meant exertions of the Army Chaplains Corps. But
though the result had been so effective and as we may trust
beneficent, the cause remained an offence. Lord Roberts, a
deeply religious man, all his life a soldier, felt that the Mili
tary Chaplains' Department had suffered unmerited asper-

*A well-known and honoured figure in the British Army in this period;
and afterwards Bishop of Nottingham.

333

A ROVING COMMISSION

sion, and the mere fact that outside assistance had now been
proffered only seemed to aggravate the sting. In these cir
cumstances my prospects for several days seemed very
gloomy, and I languished disconsolately amid the Capuan
delights of the Mount Nelson Hotel.

However, in the end my friends prevailed. My pass was
granted and I was free to proceed to Bloemf ontein, with the
proviso however that before taking up my duties as War
Correspondent I should receive an admonition from the Mil
itary Secretary to the Commander-in-Chief against reckless
and uncharitable criticism. This was good enough for me,
and I started on the long railway journey that same night.
I was welcomed very cordially by my two distinguished
friends, whose influence and authority were such as to bear
down all opposition from subordinates. I received in due
course, and with pious resignation, the lecture of the Mili
tary Secretary, and from that moment had entire liberty to
move where I would, and, subject to mild censorship, write
what I chose. But Lord Roberts maintained an air of in
flexible aloofness. Although he knew that every day I was
with people who were his closest assistants and friends, and
although he knew that I knew how much my activities were
a subject of discussion at his table even amid the press of
great events, he never received me nor offered the slightest
sign of recognition. When one morning in the market place
at Bloemfontein amid a crowd of officers I suddenly found
myself quite unexpectedly within a few yards of him, he
acknowledged my salute only as that of a stranger.

There was so much interest and excitement in everyday
life, that there was little time to worry unduly about the
displeasure even of so great a personage and so honoured
a friend. Equipped by the Morning Post on a munificent
scale with whatever good horses and transport were neces-
saryr I moved rapidly this way and that from column to
column, wherever there was a chance of fighting. Riding
sometimes quite alone across wide stretches of doubtful coun-

334

IN THE ORANGE FREE STATE

try, I would arrive at the rear-guard of a British column,
actually lapped about by the enemy in the enormous plains,
stay with them for three or four days if the General was
well disposed, and then dart back across a landscape charged
with silent menace, to keep up a continuous stream of letters
and telegrams to my newspaper.

After the relief of Ladysmith and their defeat in the Free
State, many of the Boers thought the war was over and made
haste to return to their farms. The Republics sought peace
by negotiation, observing quaintly that as the British had
cnow recovered their prestige' this should be possible. Of
course no one would entertain such an idea. The Imperial
Government pointed to the injuries they had received from
the Boer invasions, and sternly replied that they would make
known their terms for the future settlement of South Africa
from Pretoria. Meanwhile thousands of Boers in the Free
State had returned to their homes and taken an oath of neu
trality. Had it been possible for Lord Roberts to continue
his advance without delay to Pretoria, it is possible that all
resistance, at any rate south of the Vaal River, would have
come to an end. But the army must first gather supplies.
The principal railway bridges had been destroyed, and their
repair by temporary structures involved reduced freights.
The daily supply of the army drew so heavily upon the traf
fic, that supplies only accumulated at the rate of one day in
four. It was evident therefore that several weeks must pass
before the advance could be resumed. Meanwhile the reso
lute leaders of the Boers pulled themselves together and
embarked upon a second effort, which though made with
smaller resources, was far more prolonged and costly to us
than their original invasion. The period of partisan warfare
had begun. The first step was to recall to the commandos
the burghers who had precipitately made separate peace for
themselves. By threats and violence, oaths of neutrality not
withstanding, thousands of these were again forced to take
up arms. The British denounced this treacherous behaviour,

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A ROVING COMMISSION

and although no one was executed for violating his oath,
a new element of bitterness henceforward mingled in the
struggle.

I learned that the war so far had not been kind to General
Brabazon. He had come out in charge of a regular cavalry
brigade, but in the waiting, wearing operations before Coles-
burg he had fallen out with General French. French was the
younger and more forceful personality. Old 'Brab' did not
find it easy to adapt himself to the new conditions of war.
He thought of 'how we did it in Afganistan in '78, or at
Suakim in '84,' when French was only a subaltern. But
French was now his Commanding General, and the lessons
of 1878 and 1884 were obsolete and fading memories. To
these inconveniences Brabazon added the dangers of a free
and mocking tongue. His comments, not only on French's
tactics but on his youthful morals, were recounted in a jaunty
vein. Tales were told to Headquarters. French struck back.
Brabazon lost his regular brigade and emerged at the head
of the ten thousand Imperial Yeomanry now gradually ar
riving in South Africa. This looked at first like promotion
and was so represented to Brabazon. It proved to be a veri
table 'Irishman's rise.7 The ten thousand, yeomanry arrived
only to be dispersed over the whole theatre of war. One
single brigade of these despised amateurs was all my poor
friend could retain. With these he was now working in the
region south-east of Bloemfontein. I resolved to join him.

I put my horses and wagon in a truck and trained south
to Edenburg. I trekked thence through a disturbed district
in drenching rain on the morning of April 17. I travelled
prosperously, and on the night of the I9th overtook the
British column eleven miles from Dewetsdorp. It was the
8th Division, the last division of our regular army scraped
together from our fortresses all over the Empire. It was
commanded by Sir Leslie Rundle, later unkindly nicknamed
'Sir Leisurely Trundle,' whom I had known up the Nile.
Brabazon's brigade was scouting on ahead. Rundle was affa-

336

IN THE ORANGE FREE STATE

ble and hospitable; and early the next morning I rode on
to join Brabazon. He was delighted to see me, told me his
grievances, and entertained me vastly with stories and criti
cisms of French, as well as of the war and the world in gen
eral. We abode together for some days.

Very soon we began to approach the hills around Dewets-
dorp. The distant patter of musketry broke the silence, and
our patrols came scurrying back. Now ensued some of the
most comical operations I have ever witnessed. Brabazon's
yeomanry soon occupied the nearest hills, and a brisk skir
mish developed with the Boers, who were apparently in
some strength on the grass ridges before the town. Three or
four enemy guns began to fire. Word was sent back to Run-
die, and in the evening he arrived with his two brigades* I
was admitted to the council. Brabazon was all for battle. All
preparations were made for a regular attack next day. How
ever, very early in the morning the leading Brigadier, Sir
Herbert Chermside, made representations to our chief com
mander upon the gravity of the enterprise. In 1878 — twen
ty-two years before — Chermside had been in the Russo-
Turkish war. He therefore spoke with high authority. He
declared that the Boers now held positions as formidable as
those of Plevna, and that it would be imprudent without
gathering every man and gun to launch an assault which
might cost thousands of lives. It was therefore resolved to
await the arrival of a third brigade under General Barr-
Campbell, containing two battalions of Guards, who were
already on the march from the railway and should arrive by
night. So we passed a pleasant day skirmishing with the
Boers, and as soon as evening fell another long column of
infantry arrived. We now had nearly eleven thousand men
and eighteen guns. All the dispositions were made for battle
the next day. On the same evening however forty men of
the Berkshire regiment, going out in the darkness to fetch
water from a handy spring, unluckily missed their way and
walked into the Boer lines instead of our own. This incident

337

A ROVING COMMISSION

produced a sinister impression upon our Commander, and
he telegraphed to Lord Roberts for orders. All the Generals
at this time had received the most severe warnings against
incurring casualties. Frontal attacks were virtually prohib
ited. Everything was to be done by kindness and manoeuvre:
instructions admirable in theory, paralysing in effect!

At daybreak when the whole force was drawn up for at
tack and our yeomanry awaited the signal to ride round the
enemy's left flank, suddenly there arrived a staff officer with
the news that the battle was again put off for that day at
least. This was too much for Brabazon. He rode towards me
wagging his head, and with a droll expression emitted sud
denly in a loud voice and before everyone the words cBob
Acres.3 Whether the staff officer was so spiteful as to repeat
this indiscretion, I cannot tell.

To appease Brabazon and also to do something or other,
the cavalry were allowed to reconnoitre and test the left of
the enemy's so-called Tlevna.' And here I had a most ex
citing adventure.

Lest my memory should embroider the tale, I transcribe
the words I wrote that same evening.

The brigade, which included the Mounted Infantry, and
was about a thousand strong, moved southward behind the
outpost line, and making a rapid and wide circuit, soon came
on the enemy's left flank. . . . The ground fell steeply to
wards a flat basin, from the middle of which rose a most
prominent and peculiar kopje. Invisible behind this was
Dewetsdorp. Round it stood Boers, some mounted, some on
foot, to the number of about two hundred.

Our rapid advance, almost into the heart of their posi
tion, had disturbed and alarmed them. They were doubtful
whether this was reconnaissance or actual attack. They de
termined to make certain by making an attempt to outflank
the outflanking Cavalry 5 and no sooner had our long-range
rifle fire compelled them to take cover behind the hill than

338

IN THE ORANGE FREE STATE

a new force, as it seemed, of two hundred rode into the open,
and passing across our front at a distance of perhaps 2,000
yards, made for a white stone kopje on our right.

Angus McNeill, who had commanded Montmorency's
Scouts since that officer had been killed, ran up to the Gen
eral: 'Sir, may we head them off? I think we can just do it.'
The scouts pricked up their ears. The General reflected. 'All
right,3 he said, 'you may try.'

'Mount, mount, mount, the scouts!' cried their impetuous
officer, scrambling into his saddle. Then, to me, 'Come with
us, we'll give you a show now — first-class.'

A few days before, in an unguarded moment, I had prom
ised to follow the fortunes of the scouts for a day. I looked
at the Boers: they were nearer to the white stone kopje than
we, but on the other hand they had the hill to climb, and
were probably worse mounted. It might be done, and if it
were done — I thought of the affair of Acton Homes — how
dearly they would have to pay in that open plain. So, in the
interests of the Morning Post, I got on my horse and we all
started — forty or fifty scouts, McNeill and I, as fast as we
could, by hard spurring, make the horses go.

It was from the very beginning a race, and recognised as
such by both sides. As we converged I saw the five leading
Boers, better mounted than their comrades, outpacing the
others in a desperate resolve to secure the coign of vantage.
I said, 'We can't do it'$ but no one would admit defeat or
leave the matter undecided. The rest is exceedingly simple.

We arrived at a wire fence 100 yards — to be accurate,
1 20 yards — from the crest of the kopje, dismounted, and,
cutting the wire, were about to seize the precious rocks when
— as I had seen them in the railway cutting at Frere, grim,
hairy, and terrible — the heads and shoulders of a dozen
Boers appeared 5 and how many more must be close behind
them?

There was a queer, almost inexplicable, pause, or perhaps
there was no pause at all 5 but I seem to remember much

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A ROVING COMMISSION

happening. First the Boers — one fellow with a long, droop
ing, black beard, and a chocolate-coloured coat, another with
a red scarf round his neck. Two scouts cutting the wire fence
stolidly. One man taking aim across his horse, and McNeilPs
voice, quite steady: 'Too late 5 back to the other kopje. Gal
lop!'

Then the musketry crashed out, and the 'swish' and cwhirr'
of the bullets filled the air. I put my foot in the stirrup.
The horse, terrified at the firing, plunged wildly. I tried to
spring into the saddle; it turned under the animal's belly.
He broke away, and galloped madly away. Most of the
scouts were already 200 yards off. I was alone, dismounted,
within the closest range, and a mile at least from cover of
any kind.

One consolation I had — my pistol. I could not be hunted
down unarmed in the open .as I had been before. But a dis
abling wound was the brightest prospect. I turned, and, for
the second time in this war, ran for my life on foot from the
Boer marksmen, and I thought to myself, 'Here at last I
take it.' Suddenly, as I ran, I saw a scout. He came from the
left, across my front ; a tall man, with skull and crossbones
badge, and on a pale horse. Death in Revelation, but life to
me!

I shouted to him as he passed: 'Give me a stirrup.' To
my surprise he stopped at once. 'Yes. Get up,' he said
shortly. I ran to him, did not bungle in the business of
mounting, and in a moment found myself behind him on
the saddle.

Then we rode. I put my arms round him to catch a grip
of the mane. My hand became soaked with blood. The
horse was hard hit; but, gallant beast, he extended himself
nobly. The pursuing bullets piped and whistled — for the
range was growing longer — overhead.

'Don't be frightened,' said my rescuer; 'they won't hit
you.' Then, as I did not reply, 'My poor horse, oh, my

poor horse j shot with an explosive bullet. The devils!

But their hour will come. Oh, my poor liorse!'

340

IN THE ORANGE FREE STATE

I said, 'Never mind, you've saved my life.' *Ah,' he re
joined, 'but it's the horse Pm thinking about.' That was the
whole of our conversation.1

Judging from the number of bullets I heard I did not
expect to be hit after the first 500 yards were covered, for
a galloping horse is a difficult target, and the Boers were
breathless and excited. But it was with a feeling of relief that
I turned the corner of the further kopje and found I had
thrown double sixes again.

When we returned to camp we learned that Lord Roberts,
supposing that Rundle was 'held up by powerful forces', had
set in motion from Bloemfontein another infantry division,
and the whole of French's three brigades of cavalry in a wide
sweeping movement against Dewetsdorp from the north
west. In two days this combination was complete, and the
2,500 Boers who for nearly ten days had wasted the energy
of at least ten times their number of British troops slipped
quietly away to the northward taking their prisoners with
them. It was evident that the guerrilla phase would present
a problem of its own.

I now attached myself to French's cavalry division and
marched north with them. Here I found myself in a none
too friendly atmosphere. It appeared that like a good many
other Generals at this time, French disapproved of me. The
hybrid combination of subaltern officer and widely-followed
war correspondent was not unnaturally obnoxious to the mil
itary mind. But to these general prejudices was added a
personal complication. I was known to be my old Colo-
nePs partisan and close friend. I was therefore involved in
the zone of these larger hostilities. Even Jack Milbanke,
French's aide-de-camp, now recovered from his wound and
newly decorated with the V.C., was unable to mitigate the
antagonism that prevailed. Although I was often with

1Trooper Roberts received for his conduct on this occasion the Distin
guished Conduct Medal.

341

A ROVING COMMISSION

French's column in march and skirmish, the General com
pletely ignored my existence, and showed me no sign of
courtesy or goodwill. I was sorry for this, because I greatly
admired all I had heard of his skilful defence of the Coles-

IN THE ORANGE FREE STATE

berg front, his dashing gallop through the Boer lines to the
relief of Kimberley, and was naturally attracted by this gal
lant soldierly figure, upon whom fell at this moment the
gleam of a growing fame. Thus during the South African
war I never exchanged a word with the General who was
afterwards to be one of my greatest friends and with whom
I was for many years to work at grave matters in peace and
war.

342

CHAPTER XXVII
JOHANNESBURG AND PRETORIA

T was not until the beginning of May that Lord Roberts
had replenished his magazines sufficiently to begin his
march upon Johannesburg and Pretoria. Meanwhile the
whole aspect of the war had degenerated, and no swift con
clusion was in sight. The Army Headquarters had lain for
two months in Bloemf ontein, and great was the bustle before
the advance. Lord Roberts at this time had upon his staff in
one capacity or another, the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of
Westminster and the Duke of Marlborough. This had led
to sarcastic paragraphs in the Radical newspapers, and the
Commander-in-Chief — perhaps by nature unduly sensitive
to public opinion — determined to shorten sail. He selected
the Duke of Marlborough for retrenchment. My cousin was
deeply distressed at the prospect of being left behind in the
advance. Luckily, Ian Hamilton found himself with the rank
of General entrusted with the command of a detached force
of 16,000 men, at least 4,000 of whom were mounted,
which was to move parallel to the main body at a distance
of forty or fifty miles from its right or eastern flank. I had
decided to march with this force, where I should be welcome
and at home. I proposed by telegram to Hamilton that he
should take Marlborough upon his staff. The General
agreed, and Lord Roberts, who never liked to treat anyone
unfairly, gave a cordial approval. I inspanned my four-
horsed wagon, and we started -upon a forty-mile march to
overtake the flanking column. We came through the Boer-
infested countryside defenceless but safely, and caught up
our friends on the outskirts of Winburg. Henceforward all
was well.

Then began a jolly inarch, occupying with halts about six
weeks and covering in that period between four and five

343

JOHANNESBURG AND PRETORIA

hundred miles. The wonderful air and climate of South
Africa, the magnificent scale of its landscape, the life of
unceasing movement and of continuous incident made an
impression on my mind which even after a quarter of a cen
tury recurs with a sense of freshness and invigoration. Every
day we saw new country. Every evening we bivouacked —
for there were no tents — by the side of some new stream.
We lived on flocks of sheep which we drove with us, and
chickens which we hunted round the walls of deserted farms.
My wagon had a raised floor of deal boards beneath which
reposed two feet of the best tinned provisions and alcoholic
stimulants which London could supply. We had every com
fort, and all day long I scampered about the moving cavalry
screens searching in the carelessness of youth for every scrap
of adventure, experience or copy. Nearly every day as day
light broke and our widespread array of horse and foot be
gan to move, the patter of rifle fire in front, on the flank, or
more often at the heels of the rear-guard provided the ex
ceptional thrills of active service. Sometimes, as at the pas
sage, of the Sand River, there were regular actions in which
large bodies of troops were seen advancing against kopjes
and ridges held by skilful, speedy and ubiquitous mounted
Boers. Every few days a score of our men cut off, ambushed,
or entrapped, made us conscious of the great fighting quali
ties of these rifle-armed horsemen of the wilderness who
hung upon the movements of the British forces with sleuth-
like vigilance and tenacity.

Lord Roberts, against the advice of his Intelligence Of
ficer, believed that the enemy would retreat into the West
ern rather than the Eastern Transvaal. Accordingly, as we
approached the frontiers of the Transvaal, Sir Ian Hamil
ton's column was shifted from the right of the main army to
the left We crossed the central line of railway at America
siding^and marched to the fords of the Vaal River. In this
disposition we were so placed as to turn the western flank of
the Johannesburg district and so compel its evacuation by

344

BLOEMPONTEIN TO PRETORIA

A ROVING COMMISSION

the enemy without requiring the main army to deliver a
costly frontal attack. The Boers were alive to the purpose
of this manoeuvre, and although ready to evacuate Johannes
burg, they sent a strong force to oppose the advance of
Hamilton's column at a point called Florida on the Johannes-
burg-Potchefstroom route.

Here on June I, 1900, on the very ground where the
Jameson raiders had surrendered four years before, was
fought what in those days was considered a sharp action.
The Boers, buried amid the jagged outcropping rocks of the
ridges, defied bombardment and had to be dislodged by the
bayonet. The Gordon Highlanders, with ,a loss of nearly a
hundred killed and wounded, performed this arduous task,
while at the same time French's mounted forces tried rather
feebly to turn the enemy's right flank and rear. I had my
self a fortunate escape in this fight. After the ridge had been
taken by the Highlanders, General Smith-Dorrien, who
commanded one of Sir Ian Hamilton's brigades, wished to
bring his artillery immediately on to the captured position,
and as time was short, determined to choose the place him
self. Inviting me to follow him, he cantered forward alone
across the rolling slopes. The Boers had, according to their
usual custom, lighted the dry grass, and long lines of smoke
blotted out the landscape in various direction?. In these baf
fling veils we missed the left flank of the Gordon High
landers on the ridge, and coming through the smoke curtain
with its line of flame, found ourselves only a few score yards
distant from the enemy. There was an immediate explosion
of rifle fire. The air all around us cracked with a whip-lash
sound of close-range bullets. We tugged our horses' heads
round and plunged back into our smoke-curtain. One of the
horses was grazed by a bullet, but otherwise we were un
injured.

On the morrow of the action, Sir Ian Hamilton's column
lay across the main road to the west of Johannesburg.
Twenty miles away to the south of the city was the point

346

JOHANNESBURG AND PRETORIA

where Lord Roberts's headquarters should now have ar
rived. No means o£ communication existed between the two
forces. Johannesburg was still in the hands of the enemy,
and to go back southward by the way we had come meant
a detour of nearly eighty miles round rough hill ranges.
Mounted men were sent forthwith along this circuitous
route. A more speedy means of communication with the
Commander-in-Chief was at that juncture extremely impor
tant. Civilians who came out of the city and entered our
lines gave conflicting accounts of the conditions inside. The
Boers were clearing out, but they were still there. A young
Frenchman who seemed extremely well-informed assured
me that it would be quite easy to bicycle through the city in
plain clothes. The chances against being stopped and ques
tioned in the closing hours of an evacuation were remote. He
offered to lend me a bicycle and guide me himself. I de
cided to make the attempt. Sir Ian Hamilton gave me his
dispatch, and I had also my own telegrams for the Morning
Post. We started in the afternoon and bicycled straight down
the main road into the city. As we passed our farthest out
post lines I experienced a distinct sensation of adventure. We
were soon in the streets of Johannesburg. Darkness was al
ready falling. But numbers of people were about, and at once
I saw among them armed and mounted Boers. They were
still in possession of the city, and we were inside their lines.
According to all the laws of war my situation, if arrested,
would have been disagreeable. I was an officer holding a
commission in the South African Light Horse, disguised in
plain clothes and secretly within the enemy's lines. No court-
martial that ever sat in Europe would have had much dif
ficulty in disposing of such a case. On all these matters I was
quite well informed.

We had to walk our bicycles up a long steep street, and
while thus engaged we heard behind us the overtaking ap
proach of a slowly-trotting horseman. To alter our pace
would have been fatal. We continued to plod along, in ap-

347

A ROVING COMMISSION

pearance unconcerned, exchanging a word from time to time
as we had agreed in French. In a few moments the horseman
was alongside. He reined his horse into a walk and scrutinised
us attentively. I looked up at him, and our eyes met. He
had his rifle slung on his back, his pistol in his holster, and
three bandoliers of cartridges. His horse was heavily loaded
with his belongings. We continued thus to progress three
abreast for what seemed to me an uncommonly long time,
and then our unwelcome companion, touching his horse with
a spur, drew again into his trippling trot and left us behind.
It was too soon to rejoice. At any moment we might come
upon the Boer picket line — if such a line existed — opposite
Lord Roberts's troops 5 and our intention was to bicycle along
the road without the slightest attempt at concealment. How
ever, we found no Boer picket line nor, I regret to say, any
British picket line. As the streets of Johannesburg began to
melt into the country we met the first British soldiers of
Lord Roberts's forces. They were quite unarmed and stroll
ing forward into the city in search of food, or even drink.
We asked where the army was. They indicated that it was
close by. We advised them not to go farther into the town
or they would be taken prisoners or shot.

' What's that, guv'nor?' said one of them, suddenly be
coming interested in this odd possibility.

On being told that we had passed armed Boers only a mile
farther back, these warriors desisted from their foray and
turned off to examine some small neighbouring houses. My
companion and I bicycled along the main road till we found
the headquarters of I^ord Roberts's leading division. From
here we were directed to the General Headquarters nearly
ten miles farther south. It was quite dark when at last we
reached them. An aide-de-camp whom I knew came to the
door.

'Where do you spring from?'

' We have come from Ian Hamilton. I have brought a dis
patch for the Commander-in-Chief .'

348

JOHANNESBURG AND PRETORIA

'Splendid!' he said. 'We have been longing for news.'

He disappeared. My business was with the Press Censor,
for whom I had a heavy sheaf of telegrams full of earliest
and exclusive information. But before I could find this of
ficial the aide-de-camp reappeared.

'Lord Roberts wants you to come in at once.'

The Commander-in-Chief was at dinner with about a
dozen officers of his Headquarter Staff. He jumped up from
his chair as I entered, and with a most cordial air advanced
towards me holding out his hand.

'How did you come?' he asked.

'We came along the main road through the city, sir.'

'Through Johannesburg? Our reports are that it is still
occupied by the enemy.'

'There are a few, sir,' I said, 'but they are clearing out.'

'Did you see any of them?'

'Yes, we saw several, sir.'

His eye twinkled. Lord Roberts had very remarkable
eyes, full of light. I remember being struck by this at the
moment.

'Did you see Hamilton's action yesterday?' was his next
question.

'Yes, sir.'

'Tell me all about it.'

Then, while being most hospitably entertained, I gave a
full account of the doings of General Hamilton's force to my
father's old friend and now once again my own.

* * * * *

Pretoria capitulated four days later. Enormous spans of
oxen had dragged two 9.5-inch howitzers, the cow-guns as
they were called, all these hundreds of miles to bombard the
forts; but they were never needed after all. Nevertheless my
re-entry of the Boer capital was exciting. Early on the morn
ing of the 5th Marlborough and I rode out together and
soon reached the head of an infantry column already in the

349

A ROVING COMMISSION

outskirts of the town. There were no military precautions,
and we arrived, a large group of officers, at the closed gates
of the railway level crossing. Quite slowly there now steamed
past our eyes a long train drawn by two engines and crammed
with armed Boers whose rifles bristled from every window.
We gazed at each other dumbfounded at three yards' dis
tance. A single shot would have precipitated a horrible car
nage on both sides. Although sorry that the train should
escape, it was with unfeigned relief that we saw the last car
riage glide away past our noses.

Then Marlborough and I cantered into the town. We
knew that the officer prisoners had been removed from the
State Model Schools, and we asked our way to the new cage
where it was hoped they were still confined. We feared they
had been carried off — perhaps in the very last train. But as
we rounded a corner, there was the prison camp, a long tin
building surrounded by a dense wire entanglement. I raised
my hat and cheered. The cry was instantly answered from
within. What followed resembled the end of an Adelphi
melodrama. We were only two, and before us stood the
armed Boer guard with their rifles at the 'ready.' Marl-
borough, resplendent in the red tabs of the staff, called on
the Commandant to surrender forthwith, adding by a happy
thought that he would give a receipt for the rifles. The
prisoners rushed out of the house into the yard, some in uni
form, some in flannels, hatless or coatless, but all violently
excited. The sentries threw down their rifles, the gates were
flung open, and while the last of the guard (they numbered
52 in all) stood uncertain what to do, the long-penned-up
officers surrounded them and seized their weapons. Someone
produced a Union Jack, the Transvaal emblem was torn
down, and amidst wild cheers from our captive friends the
first British flag was hoisted over Pretoria. Time: 847, June
5. Tableau!

350

JOHANNESBURG AND PRETORIA

I had one more adventure in South Africa. After taking
part a fortnight later in the action of Diamond Hill, fought
to drive the Boers farther away from Pretoria, I decided to
return home. Our operations were at an end. The war had
become a guerrilla and promised to be shapeless and indefi
nite. A general election could not long be delayed. With the
consent of the authorities I resumed my full civilian status
and took the train for Cape Town.

All went well till we reached the neighbourhood beyond
Kopjes Station, about 100 miles south of Johannesburg. In
the first light of morning I was breakfasting with West
minister, who was travelling on some commission for Lord
Roberts, when suddenly the train stopped with a jerk. We
got out on to the line, and at the same moment there arrived
almost af our feet a shell from a small Boer gun. It burst
with a startling bang, throwing up clods from the embank
ment. A hundred yards ahead of us a temporary wooden
bridge was in flames. The train was enormously long, and
crowded with soldiers from a score of regiments, who for
one reason or another were being sent south or home. No
one was in command. The soldiers began to get out of the
carriages in confusion. I saw no officers. Kopjes Station,
where there was a fortified camp surmounted by two 5-inch
guns, was three miles back. My memories of the armoured
train made me extremely sensitive about our line of retreat.
I had no wish to repeat the experiences of November 15$ I
therefore ran along the railway line to the engine, climbed
into the cab, and ordered the engine-driver to blow his
whistle to make the men re-entrain, and steam back instantly
to Kopjes Station. He obeyed. While I was standing on the
foot-plate to make sure the soldiers had got back into the
train, I saw, less than a hundred yards away in the dry water
course under the burning bridge, a cluster of dark figures.
These were the last Boers I was to see as enemies. I fitted
the wooden stock to the Mauser pistol and fired six or seven
times at them. They scattered without firing back. Then the

351

A ROVING COMMISSION

engine started, and we were soon all safely within the en
trenchment at Kopjes Station. Here we learned that a fierce
action was proceeding at Honing Spruit, a station farther
down the line. The train before ours had been held up, and
was at that moment being attacked by a considerable Boer
force with artillery. The line had been broken in front of
our train, no doubt to prevent reinforcements coming to their
aid. However, with a loss of 60 or 70 men our friends at
Honing Spruit managed to hold out till the next day when
help arrived from the south and the Boers retreated. As it
would take several days to repair the line, we borrowed
horses and marched all night from Kopjes Station with a
troop of Australian Lancers, coming through without mis
adventure. I thought for many years that the 2-inch Creusot
shell which had burst so near us on the embankment was the
last projectile I should ever see fired in anger. This expecta
tion however proved unfounded.

352

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE KHAKI ELECTION

MOST people in England thought that the war was over
now that Pretoria was taken and above all when Ma-
f eking was relieved. They were encouraged in this by Lord
Roberts's speeches. They gave themselves up to rejoicings.
But the Government knew better. They had allowed them
selves to be drawn on by the tides of success into an arbitrary
and dangerous position. There was to be no negotiation with
the Boer Republics. They were simply to be blotted out. If
the Boers liked to come in and surrender either singly or
under their generals, they would get very good treatment,
and ultimately, after enough English had settled in the con
quered territory to make it safe, they would be given self-
government as in other British colonies. Otherwise they
would be hunted down or caught even to the very last man.
As Lord Milner put it some time later on, *in a certain sense
the war would never be ended' j it would just fade away. The
guerrilla phase would be ended by the armies j and after
that, brigandage in the mountains and the back-veldt would
be put down by armed police.

This was an error destined to cost us dear. There were
still many thousands of wild, fierce, dauntless men under
leaders like Botha, Smuts, De Wet, De la Rey and Hertzog
who now fought on in their vast country not for victory, but
for honour. The flames of partisan warfare broke out again
and again behind the armies in regions completely pacified.
Even the Cape Colony was rekindled by Smuts into a fire
which smouldered or blazed for two destructive years and,
was extinguished only by formal negotiation. This loiag-
drawn struggle bred shocking evils, The roving enemy .?

353

A ROVING COMMISSION

no uniforms of their own $ they mingled with the population,
lodged and were succoured in farmhouses whose owners had
taken the oath of neutrality, and sprang into being, now here
now there, to make some formidable and bloody attack upon
an unwary column or isolated post. To cope with all this the
British military authorities found it necessary to clear whole
districts of their inhabitants and gather the population into
concentration camps. As the railways were continually cut, it
was difficult to supply these camps with all the necessaries of
life. Disease broke out and several thousands of women and
children died. The policy of burning farms whose owners
had broken their oath, far from quelling the fighting Boers,
only rendered them desperate. The British on their side
were incensed against the rebels, oath-breakers, and Boers
who wore captured British uniforms (mainly because they
had no other clothes, but sometimes as a treacherous strata
gem) . However, very few persons were executed. Kitchener
shot with impartial rigour a British officer and some colonial
troopers convicted long after their offence of having killed
some Boer prisoners 5 and to the very end the Boer com
mandos did not hesitate to send their wounded into the
British field hospitals. Thus humanity and civilisation were
never wholly banished, and both sides preserved amid fright
ful reciprocal injuries some mutual respect during two harsh
years of waste and devastation. All this however lay in the
future.

I received the warmest of welcomes on returning home.
Oldham almost without distinction of party accorded me a
triumph. I entered the town in state in a procession of ten
landaus, and drove through streets crowded with enthusiastic
operatives and mill-girls. I described my escape to a tre
mendous meeting in the Theatre Royal. As our forces had
now occupied the Witbank Colliery district, and those who
had aided me were safe under British protection, I was free
fbr the first time to tell the whole story. When I mentioned
the name of Mr. Dewsnap, the Oldham engineer who had

354

THE KHAKI ELECTION

wound me down the mine, the audience shouted: *His wife's
in the gallery.' There was general jubilation.

This harmony was inevitably to be marred. The Con
servative leaders determined to appeal to the country before
the enthusiasm of victory died down. They had already been
in office for five years. A General Election must come in
eighteen months, and the opportunity was too good to be
thrown away. Indeed they could not have carried out the
policy of annexing the Boer Republics and of suppressing all
opposition by force of arms without parley, except in a new
Parliament and with a new majority. Early in September
therefore Parliament was dissolved. We had the same kind of
election as occurred in a far more violent form after the Great
War in December 1918. All the Liberals, even those who
had most loyally supported the war measures, including some
who had lost their sons, were lapped in a general condem
nation as Tro-Boers.' Mr. Chamberlain uttered the slogan,
'Every seat lost to the Government is a seat gained to the
Boers' and Conservatives generally followed in his wake. The
Liberal and Radical masses, however, believing in the lull of
the war that the fighting was over, rallied stubbornly to their
party organisations. The election was well contested all over
the country. The Conservatives in those days had a large per
manent majority of the English electorate. The prevailing
wave of opinion was with them, and Lord Salisbury and his
colleagues were returned with a scarcely diminished major
ity of 134 over all opponents, including the 80 Irish Nation
alists. His majority in the main island was overwhelming.

I stood in the van of this victory. In those days our wise
and prudent law spread a general election over nearly six
weeks. Instead of all the electors voting blindly on one day,
and only learning the next morning what they had done,
national issues were really fought out. A rough but earnest
and searching national discussion took place in which leading
men on both sides played a part. The electorate of a constit
uency was not unmanageable in numbers. A candidate could

355

A ROVING COMMISSION

address all his supporters who wished to hear him. A great
speech by an eminent personage would often turn a con
stituency or even a city. Speeches of well-known and experi
enced statesmen were fully reported in all the newspapers
and studied by wide political classes. Thus by a process of
rugged argument the national decision was reached in mea
sured steps.

In those days of hammer and anvil politics, the earliest
election results were awaited with intense interest. Oldham
was almost the first constituency to poll. I fought on the
platform that the war was just and necessary, that the
Liberals had been wrong to oppose it, and in many ways had
hampered its conduct j that it must be fought to an indis
putable conclusion, and that thereafter there should be a
generous settlement. I had a new colleague at my side, Mr.
C. B. Crisp, a City of London merchant. Mr. Mawdsley was
no more. He was a very heavy man. He had taken a bath in
a china vessel which had broken under his weight, inflicting
injuries to which he eventually succumbed. My opponents,
Mr. Emmott and Mr. Runciman, had both adopted in the
main Lord Rosebery's attitude towards the war; that is to
say, they supported the country in the conflict, but alleged
gross incompetence in its conduct by the Conservative Party.
The Liberals, it appeared, would have made quite a different
set of mistakes. As a second string, they suggested that the
Liberals would have shown such tact in their diplomacy that
war might possibly have been avoided altogether, and all its
objects — like making President Kruger give way — have been
achieved without shedding blood. All this of course rested
on mere assertion. I rejoined that however the negotiations
had been conducted, they had broken down because the Boers
invaded British territory j and that however ill the war had
been waged, we had now repulsed the invaders and taken
both their capitals. The Conservative Party throughout the
fgtmtry also argued that this was a special election on the sole
the justice of the war and to win a complete

356

THE KHAKI ELECTION

victory; and that ordinary class, sectarian, and party differ
ences ought to be set aside by patriotic men. This at the time
was my sincere belief.

Mr. Chamberlain himself came to speak for me. There
was more enthusiasm over him at this moment than after
the Great War for Mr. Lloyd George and Sir Douglas Haig
combined. There was at the same time a tremendous opposi
tion; but antagonism had not wholly excluded admiration
from their breasts. We drove to our great meeting together
in an open carriage. Our friends had filled the theatre; our
opponents thronged its approaches. At the door of the thea
tre our carriage was jammed tight for some minutes in an
immense hostile crowd, all groaning and booing at the tops
of their voices, and grinning with the excitement of seeing a
famous fellow-citizen whom it was their right and duty to
oppose. I watched my honoured guest with close attention.
He loved the roar of the multitude, and with my father
could always say CI have never feared the English democ
racy.5 The blood mantled in his cheek, and his eye as it
caught mine twinkled with pure enjoyment. I must explain
that in those days we had a real political democracy led by a
hierarchy of statesmen, and not a fluid mass distracted by
newspapers. There was a structure in which statesmen, elec
tors and the press all played their part. Inside the meeting
we were all surprised at Mr. Chamberlain's restraint. His
soft purring voice and reasoned incisive sentences, for most
of which he had a careful note, made a remarkable impres
sion. He spoke for over an hour; but what pleased the audi
ence most was that, having made a mistake in some fact or
figure to the prejudice of his opponents, he went back and
corrected it, observing that he must not be unfair. All this
was before the liquefaction of the British political system
had set in.

When we came to count the votes, of which there were
nearly 30,000, it was evident that the Liberals and Labour
ists formed the stronger party in Oldham. Mr. Einmatt

357

A ROVING COMMISSION

headed the poll. However, it appeared that about 20O Lib
erals who had voted for him had given their second votes to
me out of personal goodwill and war feeling. So I turned
Mr. Runciman out of the second place and was elected to the
House of Commons by the modest margin of 230 votes. I
walked with my friends through the tumult to the Conserva
tive Club. There I found already awaiting me the glowing
congratulations of Lord Salisbury. The old Prime Minister
must have been listening at the telephone, or very near it,
for the result. Then from every part of the country flowed
in a stream of joyous and laudatory messages. Henceforward
I became a 'star turn' at the election. I was sought for from
every part of the country. I had to speak in London the
next night, and Mr. Chamberlain demanded the two follow
ing nights in the Birmingham area. I was on my way to fulfil
these engagements, when my train was boarded by a mes
senger from Mr. Balfour informing me that he wished me
to cancel my London engagement, to come back at once to
Manchester and speak with him that afternoon, and to wind
up the campaign in Stockport that night. I obeyed.

Mr. Balfour was addressing a considerable gathering when
I arrived. The whole meeting rose and shouted at my entry.
With his great air the Leader of the House of Commons
presented me to the audience. After this I never addressed
any but the greatest meetings. Five or six thousand electors
— all men — brimming with interest, thoroughly acquainted
with the main objects, crowded into the finest halls, with
venerated pillars of the party and many-a-year members of
Parliament sitting as supporters on the platform! Such hence
forward in that election and indeed for nearly a generation
were my experiences. I spent two days with Mr. Chamber
lain at Highbury. He passed the whole of one of them in
bed resting; but after I had been carried around in a special
train to three meetings in the Midland area, he received me
at supper in his most gleaming mood with a bottle of '34
port. For three weeks I had what seemed to me a triumphal

358

THE KHAKI ELECTION

progress through the country. The party managers selected
the critical seats, and quite a lot of victories followed in my
train. I was twenty-six. Was it wonderful that I should have
thought I had arrived? But luckily life is not so easy as all
that: otherwise we should get to the end too quickly.

There seemed however to be still two important steps to
be taken. The first was to gather sufficient money to enable
me to concentrate my attention upon politics without having
to do any other work. The sales of The River War and of
my two books of war correspondence from South Africa, to
gether with the ten months' salary amounting to £2,500
from the Morning Posty had left me in possession of more
than £4,000. An opportunity of increasing this reserve was
now at hand. I had planned to lecture all the autumn and
winter at home and in America. The English tour began as
soon as the election was over. Having already spoken every
night for five weeks, I had now to undergo two and a half
months of similar labours interrupted only by the week's
voyage across the ocean. The lectures in England were suc
cessful. Lord Wolseley presided over the first, and the great
est personages in the three kingdoms on both sides of politics
took the chair as I moved from one city to another. All the
largest halls were crowded with friendly audiences to wham,
aided by a magic lantern, I unfolded my adventures and
escape, all set in the general framework of the war. I hardly
ever earned less than £100 a night and often much more. At
the Philharmonic Hall in Liverpool I gathered over £300.
Altogether in the month of November I banked safely over
£4,500, having toured little more than half of Great Britain.

Parliament was to meet in the opening days of December,
and I longed to take my seat in the House of Commons, I
had however, instead, to cross the Atlantic to fulfil my en
gagements. A different atmosphere prevailed in the United
States. I was surprised to find that many of these amiable
and hospitable Americans who spoke the same language and
seemed in essentials very like ourselves, were not nearly so

359

A ROVING COMMISSION

excited about the South African War as we were at home.
Moreover a great many of them thought the Boers were in
the right j and the Irish everywhere showed themselves ac
tively hostile. The audiences varied from place to place. At
Baltimore only a few hundreds assembled in a hall which
would have held 5,000. At Boston, on the other hand, an
enormous pro-British demonstration was staged, and even
the approaches to the Fremont Hall were thronged. The
platform here was composed of 300 Americans in red uni
forms belonging to an Anglo-American Society, and the as
pect of the meeting was magnificent. In Chicago I encoun
tered vociferous opposition. However, when I made a few
jokes against myself, and paid a sincere tribute to the cour
age and humanity of the Boers, they were placated. On the
whole I found it easy to make friends with American audi
ences. They were cool and critical, but also urbane and good-
natured.

Throughout my journeyings I received the help of emi
nent Americans. Mr. Bourke Cockran, Mr. Chauncey Depew,
and other leading politicians presided, and my opening lec
ture in New York was under the auspices of no less a person
age than 'Mark Twain' himself. I was thrilled by this famous
companion of my youth. He was now very old and snow-
white, and combined with a noble air a most delightful style
of conversation. Of course we argued about the war. After
some interchanges I found myself beaten back to the citadel
'My country right or wrong.5 'Ah,' said the old gentleman,
'When the poor country is fighting for its life, I agree. But
this was not your case.' I think however I did not displease
himj for he was good enough at my request to sign every
one of the thirty volumes of his works for my benefit j and
in the first volume he inscribed the following maxim in
tended, I daresay, to convey a gentle admonition: 'To do
good is noble 5 to teach others to do good is nobler, and no
trouble.3

All this quiet tolerance changed when we crossed the

360

THE KHAKI ELECTION

Canadian border. Here again were present the enthusiastic
throngs to which I had so easily accustomed myself at home.
Alas, I could only spend ten days in these inspiring scenes.
In the middle of January I returned home and resumed my
tour of our cities. I visited every one of them. When I spoke
in the Ulster Hall, the venerable Lord Dufferin introduced
me. No one could turn a compliment so well as he. I can
hear him now saying with his old-fashioned pronunciation,
'And this young man — at an age when many of his contem
poraries have hardly left their studies — has seen more active
service than half the general orficers in Europe.' I had not
thought of this before. It was good.

When my tour came to an end in the middle of February,
I was exhausted. For more than five months I had spoken for
an hour or more almost every night except Sundays, and
often twice a day, and had travelled without ceasing, usually
by night, rarely sleeping twice in the same bed. And this had
followed a year of marching and fighting with rarely a roof
or a bed at all. But the results were substantial. I had in my
possession nearly £10,000. I was entirely independent and
had no need to worry about the future, or for many years to
work at anything but politics. I sent my £10,000 to my
father's old friend, Sir Ernest Cassel, with the instruction
Teed my sheep.' He fed the sheep with great prudence.
They did not multiply fast, but they fattened steadily, and
none of them ever died. Indeed from year to year they had
a few lambs 5 but these were not numerous enough for me to
live upon. I had every year to eat a sheep or two as well j so
gradually my flock grew smaller, until in a few years it was
almost entirely devoured. Nevertheless, while it lasted, I
had no care.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE HOUSE OF COMMONS

PARLIAMENT reassembled late in February and plunged
immediately into fierce debates. In those days the pro
ceedings in the House of Commons were fully reported in
the Press and closely followed by the electors. Crucial ques
tions were often argued with sustained animation in three-day
debates. During their course all the principal orators con
tended, and at their close the parties took decisive trials of
strength. The House used to sit till midnight, and from 9.30
onwards was nearly always crowded. It was Mr. Balfour's
practice as Leader to wind up almost every important debate,
and the chiefs of the Opposition, having summed up in mas
sive form their case from ten to eleven, heard a comprehen
sive reply from eleven to twelve. Anyone who tried to speak
after the leaders had finished was invariably silenced by
clamour.

It was an honour to take part in the deliberations of this
famous assembly which for centuries had guided England
through numberless perils forward on the path of empire.
Though I had done nothing else for many months but ad
dress large audiences, it was with awe as well as eagerness
that I braced myself for what I regarded as the supreme
ordeal. As I had not been present at the short winter session,
I had only taken my seat for four days before I rose to ad
dress the House. I need not recount the pains I had taken to
prepare, nor the efforts I had made to hide the work of
preparation. The question in debate, which raised the main
issue of the war, was one upon which I felt myself competent
to argue or advise. I listened to counsel from many friendly
quarters. Some said clt is too soonj wait for a few months till
you know the House.' Others said clt is your subject: do not

362

THE HOUSE OF COMMONS

miss the chance.' I was warned against offending the House
by being too controversial on an occasion when everyone
wished to show goodwill. I was warned against mere colour
less platitude. But the best advice I got was from Mr. Henry
Chaplin, who said to me in his rotund manner, 'Don't be
hurried j unfold your case. If you have anything to say, the
House will listen.'

I learned that a rising young Welshman, a pro-Boer, and
one of our most important bugbears, named Lloyd George,
who from below the gangway was making things very dif
ficult for the leaders of the Liberal party, would probably
be called about nine o'clock. He had a moderately phrased
amendment on the paper, but whether he would move it was
not certain. I gathered that I could, if I wished, have the
opportunity of following him. In those days, and indeed for
many years, I was unable to say anything (except a sentence
in rejoinder), that I had not written out and committed to
memory beforehand. I had never had the practice which
comes to young men at the University of speaking in small
debating societies impromptu upon all sorts of subjects. I had
to try to foresee the situation and to have a number of vari
ants ready to meet its possibilities. I therefore came with a
quiverful of arrows of different patterns and sizes, some of
which I hoped would hit the target. My concern was in
creased by the uncertainty about what Mr. Lloyd George
would do. I hoped that the lines I had prepared would fol
low fairly well from what he would probably say.

The hour arrived. I sat in the corner seat above the gang
way, immediately behind the Ministers, the same seat from
which my father had made his speech of resignation and his
terrible Piggott attack. On my left, a friendly counsellor, sat
the long-experienced Parliamentarian, Mr. Thomas Gibson
Bowles, Towards nine o'clock the House began to fill. Mr.
Lloyd George spoke from the third bench below the gang
way on the Opposition side, surroitoded by a handful oif
Welshmen and JRMicak, and lacked by the Irislt Nationalist

363

A ROVING COMMISSION

party. He announced forthwith that he did not intend to
move his amendment, but would instead speak on the main
question. Encouraged by the cheers of the 'Celtic fringes' he
soon became animated and even violent. I constructed in
succession sentence after sentence to hook on with after he
should sit down. Each of these poor couplings became in turn
obsolete. A sense of alarm and even despair crept across me.
I repressed it with an inward gasp. Then Mr. Bowles whis
pered 'You might say "instead of making his violent speech
without moving his moderate amendment, he had better
have moved his moderate amendment without making his
violent speech."5 Manna in the wilderness was not more
welcome! It fell only just in time. To my surprise I heard
my opponent saying that he 'would curtail his remarks as he
was sure the House wished to hear a new member/ and with
this graceful gesture he suddenly resumed his seat.

I was up before I knew it, and reciting Tommy Bowles's
rescuing sentence. It won a general cheer. Courage returned.
I got through all right. The Irish — whom I had been taught
to detest — were a wonderful audience. They gave just the
opposition which would help, and said nothing they thought
would disturb. They did not seem the least offended when I
made a joke at their expense. But presently when I said 'the
Boers who are fighting in the field — and if I were a Boer, I
hofe I should be fighting in the field — . . . .' I saw a
ruffle upon the Treasury bench below me. Mr. Chamberlain
said something to his neighbour which I could not hear. Af
terwards George Wyndham told me it was 'That's the way
to throw away seats!' But I could already see the shore at no
great distance, and swam on vigorously till I could scramble
up the beach, breathless physically, dripping metaphorically,
but safe. Everyone was very kind. The usual restoratives
were applied, and I sat in a comfortable coma till I was strong
enough to go home. The general verdict was not unfavour
able. Although many guessed I had learnt it all by heart,
this was pardoned because of the pains I had taken. The

364

THE HOUSE OF COMMONS

House of Commons, though gravely changed, is still an
august collective personality. It is always indulgent to those
who are proud to be its servants.

After this debate I first made the acquaintance of Mr.
Lloyd George. We were introduced at the Bar of the House
of Commons. After compliments, he said 'Judging from your
sentiments, you are standing against the Light.' I replied
'You take a singularly detached view of the British Empire.'
Thus began an association which has persisted through many
vicissitudes.

I only made two more really successful speeches from the
Conservative benches in this Parliament, and both were in its
earliest months. The War Office had appointed a certain
General Colville to command a brigade at Gibraltar. Having
done this they became dissatisfied about his conduct in some
South African action fought nearly a year before, but the
facts of which they had only just found out. They therefore
dismissed him from his command. The Opposition champi
oned the General and censured his belated punishment. There
was a row at Question time, and a debate was fixed for the
following week. Here was a country with which I was fa
miliar, and I had plenty of time to choose the best defensive
positions. The debate opened ill for the Government, and
criticism was directed upon them from all sides. In those
days it was a serious matter for an Administration, even with
a large majority, to be notably worsted in debate. It was sup
posed to do harm to the party. Ministers were quite upset if
they felt that Harcourt, Asquith, Morley or Grey had broken
their front in any degree. I came in well on this, with what
everybody thought was a debating speech * but it was only
the result of a lucky anticipation of the course of the debate.
In fact I defended the Government by arguments which ap
pealed to the Opposition. The Conservatives were pleased
and tfee Liberals cdmpBinentaryv George; Wyndh^n^ now

A ROVING COMMISSION

circles. I really seemed to be finding my footing in the
House.

Meanwhile however I found myself in marked reaction
from the dominant views of the Conservative party. I was
all for fighting the war, which had now flared up again in a
desultory manner, to a victorious conclusion} and for that
purpose I would have used far larger numbers, and also
have organised troops of a higher quality than were actually
employed. I would also have used Indian troops. At the
same time I admired the dauntless resistance of the Boers,
resented the abuse with which they were covered and hoped
for an honourable peace which should bind these brave men
and their leaders to us for ever. I thought farm-burning a
hateful folly 5 I protested against the execution of Com
mandant Scheepers; I perhaps played some part behind the
scenes in averting the execution of Commandant Kruitzinger.
My divergences extended to a wider sphere. When the Secre
tary of State for War said 'It is by accident that we have
become a military nation. We must endeavour to remain
one,' I was offended. I thought we should finish the war by
force and generosity, and then make haste to return to paths
of peace, retrenchment and reform. Although I enjoyed the
privilege of meeting in pleasant circles most of the Con
servative leaders, and was always treated with extraordinary
kindness and good nature by Mr. Balfour j although I often
saw Mr. Chamberlain and heard him discuss affairs with the
greatest freedom, I drifted steadily to the left. I found that
Rosebery, Asquith and Grey and above all John Morley
seemed to understand my point of view far better than my
own chiefs. I was fascinated by the intellectual stature of
these men and their broad and inspiring outlook upon public
affairs, untrammelled as it was by the practical burden of
events.

The reader must remember that not having been to a
university, I had not been through any of those processes of
youthful discussion by which opinion may be formed or re-

366

THE HOUSE OF COMMONS

formed in happy irresponsibility. I was already a well-known
public character. I — at least — attached great importance to
everything I said, and certainly it was often widely pub
lished. I became anxious to make the Conservative party
follow Liberal courses. I was in revolt against 'jingoism.' I
had a sentimental view about the Boers. I found myself dif
fering from both parties in various ways, and I was so untu
tored as to suppose that all I had to do was to think out what
was right and express it fearlessly. I thought that loyalty in
this outweighed all other loyalties. I did not understand the
importance of party discipline and unity, and the sacrifices
of opinion which may lawfully be made in their cause.

My third speech was a very serious affair. Mr. Brodrick,
Secretary of State for War, had announced his scheme for
reorganising the Army on a somewhat larger scale. He pro
posed to form all the existing forces, regulars, militia and
volunteers, into six army corps by what would in the main
be a paper transaction. I resolved to oppose this whenever
the Army Estimates should be introduced. I took six weeks
to prepare this speech, and learnt it so thoroughly off by
heart that it hardly mattered where I began it or how I
turned it. Two days were assigned for the discussion, and by
good fortune and the favour of the Speaker I was called at
eleven o'clock on the first day. I had one hour before a
division after midnight was taken on some other subject.
The House was therefore crowded in every part, and I was
listened to throughout with the closest attention. I delivered
what was in effect a general attack, not only upon the policy
of the Government, but upon the mood and tendency of the
Conservative party, urging peace, economy and reduction of
armaments. The Conservatives treated me with startled con
sideration, while the Opposition of course cheered gener
ously. As a speech it was certainly successful; but it marked
a definite divergence of thought and sympathy from yearly
all those who thronged tjie benches around me*. .-I had sent it
oS to, the Mornmg Post beforehand ajidjtip^s! already lut

' '

A ROVING COMMISSION

print. What would have happened if I had not been called,
or had not got through with it, I cannot imagine. The worry
and anxiety of manufacturing and letting off a set piece of
this kind were harassing. I was much relieved when it was
over. But certainly to have the whole House of Commons
listening as they had seemed to me a tremendous event, and
to repay both the effort and the consequences.

Meanwhile we had formed our small Parliamentary so
ciety nicknamed cThe Hooligans.' It consisted of Lord Percy,
Lord Hugh Cecil, Mr. Ian Malcolm, Mr. Arthur Stanley
and myself. We dined every Thursday in the House and
always invited one distinguished guest. All the leading men
on both sides came. Sometimes we entertained well-known
strangers like Mr. W. J. Bryan. We even asked Lord Salis
bury himself. But he replied by bidding us dine with him at
Arlington Street. The Prime Minister was in the best of
humours, and conversed majestically on every subject that
was raised. As we walked out into the street Percy said to
me, 'I wonder how it feels to have been Prime Minister for
twenty years, and to be just about to die.' With Lord Salis
bury much else was to pass away. His retirement and death
marked the end of an epoch. The new century of storm and
change had already embraced the British Empire in its fierce
grip.

The world in which Lord Salisbury had reigned, the times
and scenes with which these pages have dealt, the structure
and character of the Conservative Party, the foundations of
English governing society, all were soon to be separated from
us by gulfs and chasms such as have rarely opened in so
brief a space. Little could we foresee how strong would be
the tides that would bear us forward or apart with resistless
force; still less the awful convulsions which would shake the
world and shiver into fragments the structures of the nine
teenth century. However, Percy had a premonition of events
he was not destined to see. When I walked with him in the
autumn at Dunrobin, he explained to me the Irvingite re-

368

THE HOUSE OF COMMONS

ligion. There had it appeared been twelve apostles sent to
warn mankind j but their message had been disregarded. The
last of them had died on the same day as Queen Victoria.
Our chance of safety was therefore gone. He predicted with
strange assurance an era of fearful wars and of terrors un
measured and renewing. He used the word Armageddon, of
which I had only previously heard mention in the Bible. It
happened that the German Crown Prince was staying at
Dunrobin. I could not help wondering whether this agree
able young man, our companion in pillow-fights and billiard-
table fives, would play any part in the realisation of Percy's
sombre prophecies.

In April 1902 a breeze arose in the House of Commons
about a certain Mr. Cartwright, This man had been im
prisoned for a year in South Africa for writing a seditious
article while the war was progressing. He had served his
sentence and wished to come to England. The military
authorities in South Africa refused him leave, and when
Ministers were interrogated upon this in Parliament, the
Under Secretary for War replied 'that it was undesirable to
increase the number of persons in England who disseminated
anti-British propaganda.' Thus an abuse of power was de
fended by the worst of reasons: for where else could anti-
British propaganda be less harmful at this time than in Great
Britain? John Morley moved an adjournment. In those days
such a motion was discussed forthwith. All the Opposition
leaders spoke with indignation, and I and another of our
small group supported them from the Conservative benches.
The matter was trumpery, but feeling ran high.

That night we were to have Mr. Chamberlain as our
dinner guest *I am dining in very bad company/ he ob
served, surveying us with a challenging air. We explained
how inept and arrogant the action of the Government had
been. How could we be expected to support it? 'What is the
use/ he replied, cof supporting your own Government only
when it is right? It is just when it is in this spit of pickle

A ROVING COMMISSION

that you ought to have come to our aid.' However, as he
mellowed, he became most gay and captivating. I never re
member having heard him talk better. As he rose to leave
he paused at the door, and turning said with much delibera
tion, 'You young gentlemen have entertained me royally,
and in return I will give you a priceless secret. Tariffs!
There are the politics of the future, and of the near future.
Study them closely and make yourselves masters of them,
and you will not regret your hospitality to me;.'

He was quite right. Events were soon to arise in the fiscal
sphere which were to plunge me into new struggles and
absorb my thoughts and energies at least until September
1908, when I married and lived happily ever afterwards.

370

INDEX

Africa, South. See South Af

rica

Afridis, 149, 151
Amery, 18, 243
Ardagh, Sir John, 231
Arthur, Prince, Duke of Con-

naught, 6 1

Ascroft, Robert, 219, 220,
Asquith, Mr. (Lord Oxford and

Asquith), 22, 227
Atkins, J. B., 241

Balfour, Earl, letters to Mr.
Churchill on his defeat at
Oldham, 226, 227

— message to Buller on reliev

ing of Ladysmith, 302

— remark on Mr. Churchill,

226

— remark on Sir George White,

240

— 302, 358
Ball, Major, 49
Bangalore, 105, 109 jf.
Baring, Hugo, 103, 106
Barnes, Reginald, 76, 106, 209,

2ii, 242

Beaconsfield, Lord, 8
Beatty, Lord, 179
Benzo. Lieut.-CoL, 82
Beresford, Lord Marcus, 233
Beresford, Lord William, 91,

92, 122

Birkenhead, Lord, 331

Blood, Sir Bindon, 92, 122, 123,

125,126,129-131,136,137,

146, 150,15*, 233
Boer War, 229^352
Boers' treatment of white pris-

Borthwick, Oliver, 167, 205, 230
Botha, General, predicts the
Great War, 254

— takes Mr. Churchill pris

oner, 252-254

— 253, 254, 255, 314
Bowles, Thomas Gibson, 363,

364

Brabazon, General, 61, 67-70,
89, 93, 94, 102, 115, 336-
338

Brindle, Bishop, 333

Brockie, Lieut., 261, 270

Brodrick, Mr., 367

Buller, General Sir Redvers,
cable on relieving of Lady-
smith, 302, 303,

— sketch of, 234, 235

— 229-238, 302, 307, 314, 323,

326

Burgener, Mr., 289, 296
Burke, Mr., 2, 3
Butterflies, 28
Byng, Lord, 305, 316

Cambon, Paul, 90

Campos, Marshal Martinez, 76,

Cartwright, Mr., 369^
Cassel, Sir Ernest, 233, 361
Cecil, Lord Hugh, 200-202 ..
Chamberlain, Sir Austen, 33-35
Chamberlain, Joseph, at Old-
ham, 357

, lot ,

•* > "

INDEX

Churchill, Lady Randolph,
equips hospital ship for
Boer War, 320

— 4, 5,^ 62, 99

Churchill, Lord Randolph,
death, 62

— 30-333 45-49

Churchill, Winston, American
author, 217-219

Churchill, Winston Spencer, ac
cident when 1 8, 29, 30

— and Mrs. Ormiston Chant,

S°3^ cc •

— as writer of fiction, 154

— at Cuba, 74-88

— at Harrow, 15-24

— at Hounslow, 89-100

— at Pretoria, 349

— at Sandhurst, 43-60

— back to the Army, 298-306

— Balfour's remark, 226

— Boer War experiences, 229,

351

escape from the Boers,

268-297

— escape, newspaper crit
icisms, 298-302

— childhood, 1-14

— criticises Army Chaplain's

sermon, 332

— cycles through Johannes-

.burg> 347.

— difficulty with Lord Kitchen

er, 161-170

— dislocates shoulder, 101

— education at Bangalore, 109-

121

— feels the desire for learning,

109-113

— first speech at a gathering of

the Primrose League at
Bath, 204, 205

— first speech in the House of

* Commons, 364

— gazetted to the Fourth Hus

sars, 6 1

— gives flesh to be grafted, 197

Churchill, Winston Spencer, his
first book, 153

— in a cavalry charge, 189-194

— in India, 101-108

— interview with Lord Salis

bury, 164

— leaves the Army, 197-216

— lecturing tours, 359-361

— letter to Mr. Winston

Churchill, 217, 218

— Malakand Field Force, 122-

I33

— Mamund Valley expedition,

134-147

— Oldham, contest at, 219-

227, 353-358

— ordered to Soudan, 167

— prisoner with the Boers,

259-297

— receives commission in South

African Light Horse, 305

— school days, 8-14

— speeches in House, 364, 365,

367

— surrenders to General Botha,

252

— telegram on Boer War, 329-

330

— thoughts of going to Oxford,

202

— Tirah Expedition, 148-160

— and passim

Clemens, S. L., Mark Twain,

360
Clerical Tithes Bill, 222, 224,

225, 226

Clery, Sir Francis, 302
Colville, General, 365
Commons, House of, 362-370
Connaught, Duke of, 61
Crawford, Lord, 200
Crisp, C. B., 356
Cromer, Lord, 214, 215
Cuba, 74-88
Cullinan Diamond, 254
Curzon, Lord, 72

374

INDEX

D'Abernon, Lord, description
of Lady Churchill, 4, 5

Deane, Major, 131

De Graaf, Mr., 255

De Lisle, Captain, 156

Dewsnap, Mr., 284, 354

Dufferin, Lord, 361

Durham Light Infantry as polo
players, 156

Edward VII, letter to Mr.
Churchill on the Malakand
Field Force, 155

— 93, 94,^33, .
Election, Khaki, 353-361
Elgin, Lord, 152
Emmott, Mr., 223, 356, 357
Empire Theatre, 51, 56, 57^
Entertainments Protection

League, 52-56
Eurydice, wreck of, 6
Everest, Mrs.- (Mr. Churchill's

nurse), death, 72

— 2,3, 5, 6,9, 12, 13,32, HI

Fincastle, Lord, 130, 153, 155
Finn, Major, 182, 185
Fiscal policy, 370
Fitzroy-Stewart, 203, 204
Fortnightly Review, 159
Fourth Hussars, 61-73
Frankland, Lieut., 260
French, Earl, unfriendly to Mr.
Churchill, 341-342

— 242, 336

Garstin, 214

George, David Lloyd, 363, 364,

365

Gerard, Lord, 232, 233

Girouard, 214

Gladstone, William Ewart, trib
ute on Austen Chamber^
Iain's maiden speech, 34

— 7,8,23, 33, 34
Gleaesk, Lord, 304
Gordon, Genecsal^ 2115

Grenfell, Lieut., 168

Haig, Earl, 66, 242

Haldane, Sir J. Aylmer L., 157-

159, 243, 244, 245, 249,

250, 252, 260, 270, 300
Hamilton, Sir Ian, 121, 150,

156, 157, 242, 343
Harrow, 15-24
Havana, 76
Hoare, Reginald, 209
Hounslow, 89-100
House of Commons, 362-370
Howard, John, Manager of the

Transvaal Collieries, 283-

292

India, 101-108

Indian servants, 103

Irish, 7

Irvingite religion, 368-369

James, Captain, 28, 29, 35

Jameson, Sir L. S., 97-98
effreys, Colonel, 50
Jeffreys, General, 136
Jeune, Sir Francis, 166
Jeune, Lady, 166, 227
Johannesburg, 343-352
Joubert, General, 268, 299-300

Khaki Election, 353~36i
Kitchener, Lord, Churchill's

difficulty with, 161-170
— 228, 303

Labouchere, Mr., 228
Ladysmith, relief of, 31^-326
Latin language, observations

on, 21, 22,,23
Lawrence^ General, 242
Liberals' intellectual stature,

366
Lloyd, Captain Hardress, 209

33$

INDEX

Macaulay, Lord, 211
Macdonald, General Sir Hector,

187
McDonnell, Sir Schomberg, 163,

i6<

McNeill, Angus, 339-34°
Mahommedans, 148
Malakand Field Force, 122-123
Malakand Field Force, 154, 163
Malcolm, Ian, 200
Mamund Valley, I34-I47
Marlborough, Duke of, 343, 349
Martin, Colonel, 175
Mathematics, 25-27
Mawdsley, James, 222-225, 356
Mayo, C. H. P., 25
Middleton, Mr., Conservative

Party Manager, 203
Milbanke, Jack, 39-41
Milner, Lord, 330, 353
Molyneux, Dick, 197
Morley, Lord, 99, 228
Mysore, 151

Nicholson, General, 159

Gates, Titus, 241

O'Donnell, Juan, 78

Oldham contested, 220-228,

354-358

Omdurman, 171-181
Orange Free State, 3*7-34^
Oxford and Asquith, Lord, 22,

227

Parkin, Mr., 42

Pathans, 130, 134, 135

Percy, Lord, 200, 201

Polo, 106-108, 118-120, 156,

208, 209

Portarlington, Lord, 2
Pretoria, 343-35*
Punjaubis, 148

Quotations, books of, 115

Repington, Colonel, 323
Rest, thoughts on, 81
Rhodes, Cecil J., 97> 9§
Ripon, Lord, 215
River War, 199,211,228
Roberts, Earl, aloofness to Mr.

Churchill, 334
— letter to Lady Churchill, 152

— 3°2> 3°3> 327> 332> 34&
Roberts, Trooper, 341 (note)
Rosebery, Lord, 48, 71
Runciman, Mr., 223, 356, 358
Rundle, Sir Leslie, 336-337

St. Helier, Lady. See Jeune,

Lady
Salisbury, Lord, asks Mr.

Churchill to visit him, 163,

164

— on Sir Redvers Buller, 234

— 94-96,368
Sandhurst, Lord, 103, 104
Sandhurst, 42-60
Savory, Albert, 209-211
Sawola, 154

Scott, C. P., 228
Scott, Sir Percy, 320
Singh, Sir Pertab, 207
Skrme, H. D., 204, 205
Slatin Pasha, 214
Sleep, thoughts on, 81
Smuts, General, 254, 255
Somervell, Mr., 16, 17
South Africa, 94. See also Boer

War
South African Light Horse, 305-

3°6

Spion Kop, 307-316
Stafford House, 90
Steevens, G. W., 213, 214
Symonds, General Penn, 239

Tariffs, 370

Tay Bridge disaster, 7

Thorney croft, General, 311,

Religion,

Tiedemann, Baron von, 178

376

INDEX

Tirah Expedition, 148-160
'Twain, Mark/ 360
Tweedmouth, Lord, 33

Unpunctuality, 93

Valdez, General, 78, 79

TTT u t < _A^

War, thoughts on, 64-67,

o o o

Warren, Sir Charles, 312, 3^3
Welldon Dr., .5, ^ «, ^

Whisky, 126, 127
White, Sir George, Balfour's
remark, 240

White, Sir George, 152, 153,
J57> 23*> 239> 240, 302, 303

William, German Emperor,
message to Queen Victoria
on Boer War, 303

— 97, 98

Willoughby, Sir John, 99

Wimborne, Lady, 29

Wingate, Sir Reginald, 177, 178,

Wnl^ Xc- tipnrv 76

^^ Lo?^! 359
Wood Sir Evelyn, 70, 71, 166,
P1 ,. 167
Wyndham, George, 232

377

108149

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